The idea that the extraordinary narrative which has been called theJoyce-Armstrong Fragment is an elaborate practical joke evolved bysome unknown person, cursed by a perverted and sinister sense ofhumour, has now been abandoned by all who have examined the matter.The most macabre and imaginative of plotters would hesitatebefore linking his morbid fancies with the unquestioned and tragicfacts which reinforce the statement. Though the assertionscontained in it are amazing and even monstrous, it is none the lessforcing itself upon the general intelligence that they are true,and that we must readjust our ideas to the new situation. Thisworld of ours appears to be separated by a slight and precariousmargin of safety from a most singular and unexpected danger. Iwill endeavour in this narrative, which reproduces the originaldocument in its necessarily somewhat fragmentary form, to laybefore the reader the whole of the facts up to date, prefacing mystatement by saying that, if there be any who doubt the narrativeof Joyce-Armstrong, there can be no question at all as to the factsconcerning Lieutenant Myrtle, R. N., and Mr. Hay Connor, whoundoubtedly met their end in the manner described.

The Joyce-Armstrong Fragment was found in the field which iscalled Lower Haycock, lying one mile to the westward of the villageof Withyham, upon the Kent and Sussex border. It was on the 15thSeptember last that an agricultural labourer, James Flynn, in theemployment of Mathew Dodd, farmer, of the Chauntry Farm, Withyham,perceived a briar pipe lying near the footpath which skirts thehedge in Lower Haycock. A few paces farther on he picked up a pairof broken binocular glasses. Finally, among some nettles in theditch, he caught sight of a flat, canvas-backed book, which provedto be a note-book with detachable leaves, some of which hadcome loose and were fluttering along the base of the hedge. Thesehe collected, but some, including the first, were never recovered,and leave a deplorable hiatus in this all-important statement. Thenote-book was taken by the labourer to his master, who in turnshowed it to Dr. J. H. Atherton, of Hartfield. This gentleman atonce recognized the need for an expert examination, and themanuscript was forwarded to the Aero Club in London, where it nowlies.

The first two pages of the manuscript are missing. There isalso one torn away at the end of the narrative, though none ofthese affect the general coherence of the story. It is conjecturedthat the missing opening is concerned with the record of Mr.Joyce-Armstrong's qualifications as an aeronaut, which can be gatheredfrom other sources and are admitted to be unsurpassed among theair-pilots of England. For many years he has been looked upon asamong the most daring and the most intellectual of flying men, acombination which has enabled him to both invent and test severalnew devices, including the common gyroscopic attachment which isknown by his name. The main body of the manuscript is writtenneatly in ink, but the last few lines are in pencil and are soragged as to be hardly legible--exactly, in fact, as they might beexpected to appear if they were scribbled off hurriedly from theseat of a moving aeroplane. There are, it may be added, severalstains, both on the last page and on the outside cover which havebeen pronounced by the Home Office experts to be blood--probablyhuman and certainly mammalian. The fact that something closelyresembling the organism of malaria was discovered in this blood,and that Joyce-Armstrong is known to have suffered fromintermittent fever, is a remarkable example of the new weaponswhich modern science has placed in the hands of our detectives.

And now a word as to the personality of the author of thisepoch-making statement. Joyce-Armstrong, according to the fewfriends who really knew something of the man, was a poet and adreamer, as well as a mechanic and an inventor. He was a man ofconsiderable wealth, much of which he had spent in the pursuit ofhis aeronautical hobby. He had four private aeroplanes in hishangars near Devizes, and is said to have made no fewer than onehundred and seventy ascents in the course of last year. He was aretiring man with dark moods, in which he would avoid thesociety of his fellows. Captain Dangerfield, who knew him betterthan anyone, says that there were times when his eccentricitythreatened to develop into something more serious. His habit ofcarrying a shot-gun with him in his aeroplane was one manifestationof it.

Another was the morbid effect which the fall of LieutenantMyrtle had upon his mind. Myrtle, who was attempting the heightrecord, fell from an altitude of something over thirty thousandfeet. Horrible to narrate, his head was entirely obliterated,though his body and limbs preserved their configuration. At everygathering of airmen, Joyce-Armstrong, according to Dangerfield,would ask, with an enigmatic smile: "And where, pray, is Myrtle'shead?"

On another occasion after dinner, at the mess of the FlyingSchool on Salisbury Plain, he started a debate as to what will bethe most permanent danger which airmen will have to encounter.Having listened to successive opinions as to air-pockets, faultyconstruction, and over-banking, he ended by shrugging his shouldersand refusing to put forward his own views, though he gave theimpression that they differed from any advanced by his companions.

It is worth remarking that after his own complete disappearanceit was found that his private affairs were arranged with aprecision which may show that he had a strong premonition ofdisaster. With these essential explanations I will now give thenarrative exactly as it stands, beginning at page three of theblood-soaked note-book:

"Nevertheless, when I dined at Rheims with Coselli and GustavRaymond I found that neither of them was aware of any particulardanger in the higher layers of the atmosphere. I did not actuallysay what was in my thoughts, but I got so near to it that if theyhad any corresponding idea they could not have failed to expressit. But then they are two empty, vainglorious fellows with nothought beyond seeing their silly names in the newspaper. It isinteresting to note that neither of them had ever been much beyondthe twenty-thousand-foot level. Of course, men have been higherthan this both in balloons and in the ascent of mountains. Itmust be well above that point that the aeroplane enters the dangerzone--always presuming that my premonitions are correct.

"Aeroplaning has been with us now for more than twenty years,and one might well ask: Why should this peril be only revealingitself in our day? The answer is obvious. In the old days of weakengines, when a hundred horse-power Gnome or Green was consideredample for every need, the flights were very restricted. Now thatthree hundred horse-power is the rule rather than the exception,visits to the upper layers have become easier and more common.Some of us can remember how, in our youth, Garros made a world-widereputation by attaining nineteen thousand feet, and it wasconsidered a remarkable achievement to fly over the Alps. Ourstandard now has been immeasurably raised, and there are twentyhigh flights for one in former years. Many of them have beenundertaken with impunity. The thirty-thousand-foot level has beenreached time after time with no discomfort beyond cold and asthma.What does this prove? A visitor might descend upon this planet athousand times and never see a tiger. Yet tigers exist, and if hechanced to come down into a jungle he might be devoured. There arejungles of the upper air, and there are worse things than tigerswhich inhabit them. I believe in time they will map these junglesaccurately out. Even at the present moment I could name two ofthem. One of them lies over the Pau-Biarritz district of France.Another is just over my head as I write here in my house inWiltshire. I rather think there is a third in the Homburg-Wiesbadendistrict.

"It was the disappearance of the airmen that first set methinking. Of course, everyone said that they had fallen into thesea, but that did not satisfy me at all. First, there was Verrierin France; his machine was found near Bayonne, but they never gothis body. There was the case of Baxter also, who vanished, thoughhis engine and some of the iron fixings were found in a wood inLeicestershire. In that case, Dr. Middleton, of Amesbury, who waswatching the flight with a telescope, declares that just before theclouds obscured the view he saw the machine, which was at anenormous height, suddenly rise perpendicularly upwards in asuccession of jerks in a manner that he would have thought tobe impossible. That was the last seen of Baxter. There was acorrespondence in the papers, but it never led to anything. Therewere several other similar cases, and then there was the death ofHay Connor. What a cackle there was about an unsolved mystery ofthe air, and what columns in the halfpenny papers, and yet howlittle was ever done to get to the bottom of the business! He camedown in a tremendous vol-plane from an unknown height. He nevergot off his machine and died in his pilot's seat. Died of what?'Heart disease,' said the doctors. Rubbish! Hay Connor's heartwas as sound as mine is. What did Venables say? Venables was theonly man who was at his side when he died. He said that he wasshivering and looked like a man who had been badly scared. 'Diedof fright,' said Venables, but could not imagine what he wasfrightened about. Only said one word to Venables, which soundedlike 'Monstrous.' They could make nothing of that at the inquest.But I could make something of it. Monsters! That was the lastword of poor Harry Hay Connor. And he DID die of fright, justas Venables thought.

"And then there was Myrtle's head. Do you really believe--doesanybody really believe--that a man's head could be driven cleaninto his body by the force of a fall? Well, perhaps it may bepossible, but I, for one, have never believed that it was so withMyrtle. And the grease upon his clothes--'all slimy with grease,'said somebody at the inquest. Queer that nobody got thinking afterthat! I did--but, then, I had been thinking for a good long time.I've made three ascents--how Dangerfield used to chaff me about myshot-gun--but I've never been high enough. Now, with this new,light Paul Veroner machine and its one hundred and seventy-fiveRobur, I should easily touch the thirty thousand tomorrow. I'llhave a shot at the record. Maybe I shall have a shot at somethingelse as well. Of course, it's dangerous. If a fellow wants toavoid danger he had best keep out of flying altogether and subsidefinally into flannel slippers and a dressing-gown. But I'll visitthe air-jungle tomorrow--and if there's anything there I shall knowit. If I return, I'll find myself a bit of a celebrity. If Idon't this note-book may explain what I am trying to do, and how Ilost my life in doing it. But no drivel about accidents ormysteries, if YOU please.

"I chose my Paul Veroner monoplane for the job. There'snothing like a monoplane when real work is to be done.Beaumont found that out in very early days. For one thing itdoesn't mind damp, and the weather looks as if we should be in theclouds all the time. It's a bonny little model and answers my handlike a tender-mouthed horse. The engine is a ten-cylinder rotaryRobur working up to one hundred and seventy-five. It has all themodern improvements--enclosed fuselage, high-curved landing skids,brakes, gyroscopic steadiers, and three speeds, worked by analteration of the angle of the planes upon the Venetian-blindprinciple. I took a shot-gun with me and a dozen cartridges filledwith buck-shot. You should have seen the face of Perkins, my oldmechanic, when I directed him to put them in. I was dressed likean Arctic explorer, with two jerseys under my overalls, thick socksinside my padded boots, a storm-cap with flaps, and my talcgoggles. It was stifling outside the hangars, but I was going forthe summit of the Himalayas, and had to dress for the part.Perkins knew there was something on and implored me to take himwith me. Perhaps I should if I were using the biplane, but amonoplane is a one-man show--if you want to get the last foot oflife out of it. Of course, I took an oxygen bag; the man who goesfor the altitude record without one will either be frozen orsmothered--or both.

"I had a good look at the planes, the rudder-bar, and theelevating lever before I got in. Everything was in order so far asI could see. Then I switched on my engine and found that she wasrunning sweetly. When they let her go she rose almost at once uponthe lowest speed. I circled my home field once or twice just towarm her up, and then with a wave to Perkins and the others, Iflattened out my planes and put her on her highest. She skimmedlike a swallow down wind for eight or ten miles until I turned hernose up a little and she began to climb in a great spiral for thecloud-bank above me. It's all-important to rise slowly and adaptyourself to the pressure as you go.

"It was a close, warm day for an English September, and therewas the hush and heaviness of impending rain. Now and then therecame sudden puffs of wind from the south-west--one of them so gustyand unexpected that it caught me napping and turned me half-roundfor an instant. I remember the time when gusts and whirls and air-pocketsused to be things of danger--before we learned to putan overmastering power into our engines. Just as I reached thecloud-banks, with the altimeter marking three thousand, down camethe rain. My word, how it poured! It drummed upon my wings andlashed against my face, blurring my glasses so that I could hardlysee. I got down on to a low speed, for it was painful to travelagainst it. As I got higher it became hail, and I had to turn tailto it. One of my cylinders was out of action--a dirty plug, Ishould imagine, but still I was rising steadily with plenty ofpower. After a bit the trouble passed, whatever it was, and Iheard the full, deep-throated purr--the ten singing as one. That'swhere the beauty of our modern silencers comes in. We can at lastcontrol our engines by ear. How they squeal and squeak and sobwhen they are in trouble! All those cries for help were wasted inthe old days, when every sound was swallowed up by the monstrousracket of the machine. If only the early aviators could come backto see the beauty and perfection of the mechanism which have beenbought at the cost of their lives!

"About nine-thirty I was nearing the clouds. Down below me,all blurred and shadowed with rain, lay the vast expanse ofSalisbury Plain. Half a dozen flying machines were doing hackworkat the thousand-foot level, looking like little black swallowsagainst the green background. I dare say they were wondering whatI was doing up in cloud-land. Suddenly a grey curtain drew acrossbeneath me and the wet folds of vapours were swirling round myface. It was clammily cold and miserable. But I was above thehail-storm, and that was something gained. The cloud was as darkand thick as a London fog. In my anxiety to get clear, I cockedher nose up until the automatic alarm-bell rang, and I actuallybegan to slide backwards. My sopped and dripping wings had made meheavier than I thought, but presently I was in lighter cloud, andsoon had cleared the first layer. There was a second--opal-colouredand fleecy--at a great height above my head, a white,unbroken ceiling above, and a dark, unbroken floor below, with themonoplane labouring upwards upon a vast spiral between them. It isdeadly lonely in these cloud-spaces. Once a great flight of somesmall water-birds went past me, flying very fast to the westwards.The quick whir of their wings and their musical cry were cheery tomy ear. I fancy that they were teal, but I am a wretchedzoologist. Now that we humans have become birds we must reallylearn to know our brethren by sight.

"The wind down beneath me whirled and swayed the broad cloud-plain.Once a great eddy formed in it, a whirlpool of vapour, andthrough it, as down a funnel, I caught sight of the distant world.A large white biplane was passing at a vast depth beneath me. Ifancy it was the morning mail service betwixt Bristol and London.Then the drift swirled inwards again and the great solitude wasunbroken.

"Just after ten I touched the lower edge of the upper cloud-stratum.It consisted of fine diaphanous vapour drifting swiftlyfrom the westwards. The wind had been steadily rising all thistime and it was now blowing a sharp breeze--twenty-eight an hour bymy gauge. Already it was very cold, though my altimeter onlymarked nine thousand. The engines were working beautifully, and wewent droning steadily upwards. The cloud-bank was thicker than Ihad expected, but at last it thinned out into a golden mist beforeme, and then in an instant I had shot out from it, and there was anunclouded sky and a brilliant sun above my head--all blue and goldabove, all shining silver below, one vast, glimmering plain as faras my eyes could reach. It was a quarter past ten o'clock, and thebarograph needle pointed to twelve thousand eight hundred. Up Iwent and up, my ears concentrated upon the deep purring of mymotor, my eyes busy always with the watch, the revolutionindicator, the petrol lever, and the oil pump. No wonder aviatorsare said to be a fearless race. With so many things to think ofthere is no time to trouble about oneself. About this time I notedhow unreliable is the compass when above a certain height fromearth. At fifteen thousand feet mine was pointing east and a pointsouth. The sun and the wind gave me my true bearings.

"I had hoped to reach an eternal stillness in these highaltitudes, but with every thousand feet of ascent the gale grewstronger. My machine groaned and trembled in every joint and rivetas she faced it, and swept away like a sheet of paper when I bankedher on the turn, skimming down wind at a greater pace, perhaps,than ever mortal man has moved. Yet I had always to turn again andtack up in the wind's eye, for it was not merely a heightrecord that I was after. By all my calculations it was abovelittle Wiltshire that my air-jungle lay, and all my labour might belost if I struck the outer layers at some farther point.

"When I reached the nineteen-thousand-foot level, which wasabout midday, the wind was so severe that I looked with someanxiety to the stays of my wings, expecting momentarily to see themsnap or slacken. I even cast loose the parachute behind me, andfastened its hook into the ring of my leathern belt, so as to beready for the worst. Now was the time when a bit of scamped workby the mechanic is paid for by the life of the aeronaut. But sheheld together bravely. Every cord and strut was humming andvibrating like so many harp-strings, but it was glorious to seehow, for all the beating and the buffeting, she was still theconqueror of Nature and the mistress of the sky. There is surelysomething divine in man himself that he should rise so superior tothe limitations which Creation seemed to impose--rise, too, by suchunselfish, heroic devotion as this air-conquest has shown. Talk ofhuman degeneration! When has such a story as this been written inthe annals of our race?

"These were the thoughts in my head as I climbed thatmonstrous, inclined plane with the wind sometimes beating in myface and sometimes whistling behind my ears, while the cloud-landbeneath me fell away to such a distance that the folds and hummocksof silver had all smoothed out into one flat, shining plain. Butsuddenly I had a horrible and unprecedented experience. I haveknown before what it is to be in what our neighbours have called atourbillon, but never on such a scale as this. That huge,sweeping river of wind of which I have spoken had, as it appears,whirlpools within it which were as monstrous as itself. Without amoment's warning I was dragged suddenly into the heart of one. Ispun round for a minute or two with such velocity that I almostlost my senses, and then fell suddenly, left wing foremost, downthe vacuum funnel in the centre. I dropped like a stone, and lostnearly a thousand feet. It was only my belt that kept me in myseat, and the shock and breathlessness left me hanging half-insensibleover the side of the fuselage. But I am always capableof a supreme effort--it is my one great merit as an aviator. I wasconscious that the descent was slower. The whirlpool was a conerather than a funnel, and I had come to the apex. With aterrific wrench, throwing my weight all to one side, I levelled myplanes and brought her head away from the wind. In an instant Ihad shot out of the eddies and was skimming down the sky. Then,shaken but victorious, I turned her nose up and began once more mysteady grind on the upward spiral. I took a large sweep to avoidthe danger-spot of the whirlpool, and soon I was safely above it.Just after one o'clock I was twenty-one thousand feet above thesea-level. To my great joy I had topped the gale, and with everyhundred feet of ascent the air grew stiller. On the other hand, itwas very cold, and I was conscious of that peculiar nausea whichgoes with rarefaction of the air. For the first time I unscrewedthe mouth of my oxygen bag and took an occasional whiff of theglorious gas. I could feel it running like a cordial through myveins, and I was exhilarated almost to the point of drunkenness.I shouted and sang as I soared upwards into the cold, still outerworld.

"It is very clear to me that the insensibility which came uponGlaisher, and in a lesser degree upon Coxwell, when, in 1862, theyascended in a balloon to the height of thirty thousand feet, wasdue to the extreme speed with which a perpendicular ascent is made.Doing it at an easy gradient and accustoming oneself to thelessened barometric pressure by slow degrees, there are no suchdreadful symptoms. At the same great height I found that evenwithout my oxygen inhaler I could breathe without undue distress.It was bitterly cold, however, and my thermometer was at zero,Fahrenheit. At one-thirty I was nearly seven miles above thesurface of the earth, and still ascending steadily. I found,however, that the rarefied air was giving markedly less support tomy planes, and that my angle of ascent had to be considerablylowered in consequence. It was already clear that even with mylight weight and strong engine-power there was a point in front ofme where I should be held. To make matters worse, one of mysparking-plugs was in trouble again and there was intermittentmisfiring in the engine. My heart was heavy with the fear offailure.

"It was about that time that I had a most extraordinaryexperience. Something whizzed past me in a trail of smoke andexploded with a loud, hissing sound, sending forth a cloud ofsteam. For the instant I could not imagine what had happened.Then I remembered that the earth is for ever being bombarded bymeteor stones, and would be hardly inhabitable were they not innearly every case turned to vapour in the outer layers of theatmosphere. Here is a new danger for the high-altitude man, fortwo others passed me when I was nearing the forty-thousand-footmark. I cannot doubt that at the edge of the earth's envelope therisk would be a very real one.

"My barograph needle marked forty-one thousand three hundredwhen I became aware that I could go no farther. Physically, thestrain was not as yet greater than I could bear but my machine hadreached its limit. The attenuated air gave no firm support to thewings, and the least tilt developed into side-slip, while sheseemed sluggish on her controls. Possibly, had the engine been atits best, another thousand feet might have been within ourcapacity, but it was still misfiring, and two out of the tencylinders appeared to be out of action. If I had not alreadyreached the zone for which I was searching then I should never seeit upon this journey. But was it not possible that I had attainedit? Soaring in circles like a monstrous hawk upon the forty-thousand-footlevel I let the monoplane guide herself, and with my Mannheimglass I made a careful observation of my surroundings.The heavens were perfectly clear; there was no indication of thosedangers which I had imagined.

"I have said that I was soaring in circles. It struck mesuddenly that I would do well to take a wider sweep and open up anew airtract. If the hunter entered an earth-jungle he would drivethrough it if he wished to find his game. My reasoning had led meto believe that the air-jungle which I had imagined lay somewhereover Wiltshire. This should be to the south and west of me. Itook my bearings from the sun, for the compass was hopeless and notrace of earth was to be seen--nothing but the distant, silvercloud-plain. However, I got my direction as best I might and kepther head straight to the mark. I reckoned that my petrol supplywould not last for more than another hour or so, but I could affordto use it to the last drop, since a single magnificent vol-planecould at any time take me to the earth.

"Suddenly I was aware of something new. The air in front of me had lostits crystal clearness. It was full of long, ragged wisps of somethingwhich I can only compare to very fine cigarette smoke. It hung about inwreaths and coils, turning and twisting slowly in the sunlight. As themonoplane shot through it, I was aware of a faint taste of oil upon mylips, and there was a greasy scum upon the woodwork of the machine. Someinfinitely fine organic matter appeared to be suspended in theatmosphere. There was no life there. It was inchoate and diffuse,extending for many square acres and then fringing off into the void. No,it was not life. But might it not be the remains of life? Above all,might it not be the food of life, of monstrous life, even as the humblegrease of the ocean is the food for the mighty whale? The thought was inmy mind when my eyes looked upwards and I saw the most wonderful visionthat ever man has seen. Can I hope to convey it to you even as I saw itmyself last Thursday?

"Conceive a jelly-fish such as sails in our summer seas, bell-shapedand of enormous size--far larger, I should judge, than thedome of St. Paul's. It was of a light pink colour veined with adelicate green, but the whole huge fabric so tenuous that it wasbut a fairy outline against the dark blue sky. It pulsated with adelicate and regular rhythm. From it there depended two long,drooping, green tentacles, which swayed slowly backwards andforwards. This gorgeous vision passed gently with noiselessdignity over my head, as light and fragile as a soap-bubble, anddrifted upon its stately way.

"I had half-turned my monoplane, that I might look after thisbeautiful creature, when, in a moment, I found myself amidst aperfect fleet of them, of all sizes, but none so large as thefirst. Some were quite small, but the majority about as big as anaverage balloon, and with much the same curvature at the top.There was in them a delicacy of texture and colouring whichreminded me of the finest Venetian glass. Pale shades of pink andgreen were the prevailing tints, but all had a lovely iridescencewhere the sun shimmered through their dainty forms. Some hundredsof them drifted past me, a wonderful fairy squadron of strangeunknown argosies of the sky--creatures whose forms and substancewere so attuned to these pure heights that one could not conceiveanything so delicate within actual sight or sound of earth.

"But soon my attention was drawn to a new phenomenon--theserpents of the outer air. These were long, thin, fantastic coilsof vapour-like material, which turned and twisted with great speed,flying round and round at such a pace that the eyes couldhardly follow them. Some of these ghost-like creatures were twentyor thirty feet long, but it was difficult to tell their girth, fortheir outline was so hazy that it seemed to fade away into the airaround them. These air-snakes were of a very light grey or smokecolour, with some darker lines within, which gave the impression ofa definite organism. One of them whisked past my very face, and Iwas conscious of a cold, clammy contact, but their composition wasso unsubstantial that I could not connect them with any thought ofphysical danger, any more than the beautiful bell-like creatureswhich had preceded them. There was no more solidity in theirframes than in the floating spume from a broken wave.

"But a more terrible experience was in store for me. Floatingdownwards from a great height there came a purplish patch ofvapour, small as I saw it first, but rapidly enlarging as itapproached me, until it appeared to be hundreds of square feet insize. Though fashioned of some transparent, jelly-like substance,it was none the less of much more definite outline and solidconsistence than anything which I had seen before. There were moretraces, too, of a physical organization, especially two vast,shadowy, circular plates upon either side, which may have beeneyes, and a perfectly solid white projection between them which wasas curved and cruel as the beak of a vulture.

"The whole aspect of this monster was formidable andthreatening, and it kept changing its colour from a very lightmauve to a dark, angry purple so thick that it cast a shadow as itdrifted between my monoplane and the sun. On the upper curve ofits huge body there were three great projections which I can onlydescribe as enormous bubbles, and I was convinced as I looked atthem that they were charged with some extremely light gas whichserved to buoy up the misshapen and semi-solid mass in the rarefiedair. The creature moved swiftly along, keeping pace easily withthe monoplane, and for twenty miles or more it formed my horribleescort, hovering over me like a bird of prey which is waiting topounce. Its method of progression--done so swiftly that it was noteasy to follow--was to throw out a long, glutinous streamer infront of it, which in turn seemed to draw forward the rest of thewrithing body. So elastic and gelatinous was it that never fortwo successive minutes was it the same shape, and yet each changemade it more threatening and loathsome than the last.

"I knew that it meant mischief. Every purple flush of itshideous body told me so. The vague, goggling eyes which wereturned always upon me were cold and merciless in their viscidhatred. I dipped the nose of my monoplane downwards to escape it.As I did so, as quick as a flash there shot out a long tentaclefrom this mass of floating blubber, and it fell as light andsinuous as a whip-lash across the front of my machine. There wasa loud hiss as it lay for a moment across the hot engine, and itwhisked itself into the air again, while the huge, flat body drewitself together as if in sudden pain. I dipped to a vol-pique, butagain a tentacle fell over the monoplane and was shorn off by thepropeller as easily as it might have cut through a smoke wreath.A long, gliding, sticky, serpent-like coil came from behind andcaught me round the waist, dragging me out of the fuselage. I toreat it, my fingers sinking into the smooth, glue-like surface, andfor an instant I disengaged myself, but only to be caught round theboot by another coil, which gave me a jerk that tilted me almost onto my back.

"As I fell over I blazed off both barrels of my gun, though,indeed, it was like attacking an elephant with a pea-shooter toimagine that any human weapon could cripple that mighty bulk. Andyet I aimed better than I knew, for, with a loud report, one of thegreat blisters upon the creature's back exploded with the punctureof the buck-shot. It was very clear that my conjecture was right,and that these vast, clear bladders were distended with somelifting gas, for in an instant the huge, cloud-like body turnedsideways, writhing desperately to find its balance, while the whitebeak snapped and gaped in horrible fury. But already I had shotaway on the steepest glide that I dared to attempt, my engine stillfull on, the flying propeller and the force of gravity shooting medownwards like an aerolite. Far behind me I saw a dull, purplishsmudge growing swiftly smaller and merging into the blue sky behindit. I was safe out of the deadly jungle of the outer air.

"Once out of danger I throttled my engine, for nothing tears amachine to pieces quicker than running on full power from a height.It was a glorious, spiral vol-plane from nearly eight miles ofaltitude--first, to the level of the silver cloud-bank, then tothat of the storm-cloud beneath it, and finally, in beating rain,to the surface of the earth. I saw the Bristol Channel beneath meas I broke from the clouds, but, having still some petrol in mytank, I got twenty miles inland before I found myself stranded ina field half a mile from the village of Ashcombe. There I gotthree tins of petrol from a passing motor-car, and at ten minutespast six that evening I alighted gently in my own home meadow atDevizes, after such a journey as no mortal upon earth has ever yettaken and lived to tell the tale. I have seen the beauty and Ihave seen the horror of the heights--and greater beauty or greaterhorror than that is not within the ken of man.

"And now it is my plan to go once again before I give myresults to the world. My reason for this is that I must surelyhave something to show by way of proof before I lay such a talebefore my fellow-men. It is true that others will soon follow andwill confirm what I have said, and yet I should wish to carryconviction from the first. Those lovely iridescent bubbles of theair should not be hard to capture. They drift slowly upon theirway, and the swift monoplane could intercept their leisurelycourse. It is likely enough that they would dissolve in theheavier layers of the atmosphere, and that some small heap ofamorphous jelly might be all that I should bring to earth with me.And yet something there would surely be by which I couldsubstantiate my story. Yes, I will go, even if I run a risk bydoing so. These purple horrors would not seem to be numerous. Itis probable that I shall not see one. If I do I shall dive atonce. At the worst there is always the shot-gun and my knowledgeof . . ."

Here a page of the manuscript is unfortunately missing. On thenext page is written, in large, straggling writing:

"Forty-three thousand feet. I shall never see earth again.They are beneath me, three of them. God help me; it is a dreadfuldeath to die!"

Such in its entirety is the Joyce-Armstrong Statement. Of theman nothing has since been seen. Pieces of his shattered monoplanehave been picked up in the preserves of Mr. Budd-Lushingtonupon the borders of Kent and Sussex, within a few miles of the spotwhere the note-book was discovered. If the unfortunate aviator'stheory is correct that this air-jungle, as he called it, existedonly over the south-west of England, then it would seem that he hadfled from it at the full speed of his monoplane, but had beenovertaken and devoured by these horrible creatures at some spot inthe outer atmosphere above the place where the grim relics werefound. The picture of that monoplane skimming down the sky, withthe nameless terrors flying as swiftly beneath it and cutting itoff always from the earth while they gradually closed in upon theirvictim, is one upon which a man who valued his sanity would prefernot to dwell. There are many, as I am aware, who still jeer at thefacts which I have here set down, but even they must admit thatJoyce-Armstrong has disappeared, and I would commend to them hisown words: "This note-book may explain what I am trying to do, andhow I lost my life in doing it. But no drivel about accidents ormysteries, if YOU please."

The Leather Funnel

My friend, Lionel Dacre, lived in the Avenue de Wagram, Paris.His house was that small one, with the iron railings and grassplot in front of it, on the left-hand side as you pass down fromthe Arc de Triomphe. I fancy that it had been there long beforethe avenue was constructed, for the grey tiles were stained withlichens, and the walls were mildewed and discoloured with age. Itlooked a small house from the street, five windows in front, ifI remember right, but it deepened into a single long chamber atthe back. It was here that Dacre had that singular library ofoccult literature, and the fantastic curiosities which served as ahobby for himself, and an amusement for his friends. A wealthy manof refined and eccentric tastes, he had spent much of his life andfortune in gathering together what was said to be a unique privatecollection of Talmudic, cabalistic, and magical works, many of themof great rarity and value. His tastes leaned toward the marvellousand the monstrous, and I have heard that his experiments in thedirection of the unknown have passed all the bounds of civilizationand of decorum. To his English friends he never alluded to suchmatters, and took the tone of the student and virtuoso; but aFrenchman whose tastes were of the same nature has assured me thatthe worst excesses of the black mass have been perpetrated in thatlarge and lofty hall, which is lined with the shelves of his books,and the cases of his museum.

Dacre's appearance was enough to show that his deep interest inthese psychic matters was intellectual rather than spiritual.There was no trace of asceticism upon his heavy face, but there wasmuch mental force in his huge, dome-like skull, which curved upwardfrom amongst his thinning locks, like a snowpeak above its fringeof fir trees. His knowledge was greater than his wisdom, and hispowers were far superior to his character. The small bright eyes,buried deeply in his fleshy face, twinkled with intelligence and anunabated curiosity of life, but they were the eyes of a sensualistand an egotist. Enough of the man, for he is dead now, poor devil,dead at the very time that he had made sure that he had at lastdiscovered the elixir of life. It is not with his complexcharacter that I have to deal, but with the very strange andinexplicable incident which had its rise in my visit to him in theearly spring of the year '82.

I had known Dacre in England, for my researches in the AssyrianRoom of the British Museum had been conducted at the time when hewas endeavouring to establish a mystic and esoteric meaning in theBabylonian tablets, and this community of interests had brought ustogether. Chance remarks had led to daily conversation, and thatto something verging upon friendship. I had promised him that onmy next visit to Paris I would call upon him. At the time when Iwas able to fulfil my compact I was living in a cottage atFontainebleau, and as the evening trains were inconvenient, heasked me to spend the night in his house.

"I have only that one spare couch," said he, pointing to abroad sofa in his large salon; "I hope that you will manage to becomfortable there."

It was a singular bedroom, with its high walls of brownvolumes, but there could be no more agreeable furniture to abookworm like myself, and there is no scent so pleasant to mynostrils as that faint, subtle reek which comes from an ancientbook. I assured him that I could desire no more charming chamber,and no more congenial surroundings.

"If the fittings are neither convenient nor conventional, theyare at least costly," said he, looking round at his shelves. "Ihave expended nearly a quarter of a million of money upon theseobjects which surround you. Books, weapons, gems, carvings,tapestries, images--there is hardly a thing here which has not itshistory, and it is generally one worth telling."

He was seated as he spoke at one side of the open fire-place,and I at the other. His reading-table was on his right, and thestrong lamp above it ringed it with a very vivid circle of goldenlight. A half-rolled palimpsest lay in the centre, and around itwere many quaint articles of bric-a-brac. One of these was a largefunnel, such as is used for filling wine casks. It appeared to bemade of black wood, and to be rimmed with discoloured brass.

"That is a curious thing," I remarked. "What is the history ofthat?"

"Ah!" said he, "it is the very question which I have hadoccasion to ask myself. I would give a good deal to know. Take itin your hands and examine it."

I did so, and found that what I had imagined to be wood was inreality leather, though age had dried it into an extreme hardness.It was a large funnel, and might hold a quart when full. The brassrim encircled the wide end, but the narrow was also tipped withmetal.

"What do you make of it?" asked Dacre.

"I should imagine that it belonged to some vintner or maltsterin the Middle Ages," said I. "I have seen in England leatherndrinking flagons of the seventeenth century--'black jacks' asthey were called--which were of the same colour and hardness asthis filler."

"I dare say the date would be about the same," said Dacre,"and, no doubt, also, it was used for filling a vessel with liquid.If my suspicions are correct, however, it was a queer vintner whoused it, and a very singular cask which was filled. Do you observenothing strange at the spout end of the funnel."

As I held it to the light I observed that at a spot some fiveinches above the brass tip the narrow neck of the leather funnelwas all haggled and scored, as if someone had notched it round witha blunt knife. Only at that point was there any roughening of thedead black surface.

"Someone has tried to cut off the neck."

"Would you call it a cut?"

"It is torn and lacerated. It must have taken some strength toleave these marks on such tough material, whatever the instrumentmay have been. But what do you think of it? I can tell that youknow more than you say."

Dacre smiled, and his little eyes twinkled with knowledge.

"Have you included the psychology of dreams among your learnedstudies?" he asked.

"I did not even know that there was such a psychology."

"My dear sir, that shelf above the gem case is filled withvolumes, from Albertus Magnus onward, which deal with no othersubject. It is a science in itself."

"A science of charlatans!"

"The charlatan is always the pioneer. From the astrologer camethe astronomer, from the alchemist the chemist, from the mesmeristthe experimental psychologist. The quack of yesterday is theprofessor of tomorrow. Even such subtle and elusive things asdreams will in time be reduced to system and order. When that timecomes the researches of our friends on the bookshelf yonder will nolonger be the amusement of the mystic, but the foundations of ascience."

"Supposing that is so, what has the science of dreams to dowith a large, black, brass-rimmed funnel?"

"I will tell you. You know that I have an agent who is alwayson the look-out for rarities and curiosities for my collection.Some days ago he heard of a dealer upon one of the Quais whohad acquired some old rubbish found in a cupboard in an ancienthouse at the back of the Rue Mathurin, in the Quartier Latin. Thedining-room of this old house is decorated with a coat of arms,chevrons, and bars rouge upon a field argent, which prove, uponinquiry, to be the shield of Nicholas de la Reynie, a high officialof King Louis XIV. There can be no doubt that the other articlesin the cupboard date back to the early days of that king. Theinference is, therefore, that they were all the property of thisNicholas de la Reynie, who was, as I understand, the gentlemanspecially concerned with the maintenance and execution of theDraconic laws of that epoch."

"What then?"

"I would ask you now to take the funnel into your hands oncemore and to examine the upper brass rim. Can you make out anylettering upon it?"

There were certainly some scratches upon it, almost obliteratedby time. The general effect was of several letters, the last ofwhich bore some resemblance to a B.

"You make it a B?"

"Yes, I do."

"So do I. In fact, I have no doubt whatever that it is a B."

"But the nobleman you mentioned would have had R for hisinitial."

"Exactly! That's the beauty of it. He owned this curiousobject, and yet he had someone else's initials upon it. Why did hedo this?"

"I can't imagine; can you?"

"Well, I might, perhaps, guess. Do you observe something drawna little farther along the rim?"

"I should say it was a crown."

"It is undoubtedly a crown; but if you examine it in a goodlight, you will convince yourself that it is not an ordinary crown.It is a heraldic crown--a badge of rank, and it consists of analternation of four pearls and strawberry leaves, the proper badgeof a marquis. We may infer, therefore, that the person whoseinitials end in B was entitled to wear that coronet."

"Then this common leather filler belonged to a marquis?"

Dacre gave a peculiar smile.

"Or to some member of the family of a marquis," said he. "Somuch we have clearly gathered from this engraved rim."

"But what has all this to do with dreams?" I do not knowwhether it was from a look upon Dacre's face, or from some subtlesuggestion in his manner, but a feeling of repulsion, ofunreasoning horror, came upon me as I looked at the gnarled oldlump of leather.

"I have more than once received important information throughmy dreams," said my companion in the didactic manner which he lovedto affect. "I make it a rule now when I am in doubt upon anymaterial point to place the article in question beside me as Isleep, and to hope for some enlightenment. The process does notappear to me to be very obscure, though it has not yet received theblessing of orthodox science. According to my theory, any objectwhich has been intimately associated with any supreme paroxysm ofhuman emotion, whether it be joy or pain, will retain a certainatmosphere or association which it is capable of communicating toa sensitive mind. By a sensitive mind I do not mean an abnormalone, but such a trained and educated mind as you or I possess."

"You mean, for example, that if I slept beside that old swordupon the wall, I might dream of some bloody incident in which thatvery sword took part?"

"An excellent example, for, as a matter of fact, that sword wasused in that fashion by me, and I saw in my sleep the death of itsowner, who perished in a brisk skirmish, which I have been unableto identify, but which occurred at the time of the wars of theFrondists. If you think of it, some of our popular observancesshow that the fact has already been recognized by our ancestors,although we, in our wisdom, have classed it among superstitions."

"For example?"

"Well, the placing of the bride's cake beneath the pillow inorder that the sleeper may have pleasant dreams. That is one ofseveral instances which you will find set forth in a smallbrochure which I am myself writing upon the subject. But tocome back to the point, I slept one night with this funnel besideme, and I had a dream which certainly throws a curious light uponits use and origin."

"What did you dream?"

"I dreamed----" He paused, and an intent look of interest cameover his massive face. "By Jove, that's well thought of," said he."This really will be an exceedingly interesting experiment. Youare yourself a psychic subject--with nerves which respond readilyto any impression."

"I have never tested myself in that direction."

"Then we shall test you tonight. Might I ask you as a verygreat favour, when you occupy that couch tonight, to sleep withthis old funnel placed by the side of your pillow?"

The request seemed to me a grotesque one; but I have myself, inmy complex nature, a hunger after all which is bizarre andfantastic. I had not the faintest belief in Dacre's theory, norany hopes for success in such an experiment; yet it amused me thatthe experiment should be made. Dacre, with great gravity, drew asmall stand to the head of my settee, and placed the funnel uponit. Then, after a short conversation, he wished me good night andleft me.

I sat for some little time smoking by the smouldering fire,and turning over in my mind the curious incident which hadoccurred, and the strange experience which might lie before me.Sceptical as I was, there was something impressive in the assuranceof Dacre's manner, and my extraordinary surroundings, the huge roomwith the strange and often sinister objects which were hung roundit, struck solemnity into my soul. Finally I undressed, andturning out the lamp, I lay down. After long tossing I fellasleep. Let me try to describe as accurately as I can the scenewhich came to me in my dreams. It stands out now in my memory moreclearly than anything which I have seen with my waking eyes. Therewas a room which bore the appearance of a vault. Four spandrelsfrom the corners ran up to join a sharp, cup-shaped roof. Thearchitecture was rough, but very strong. It was evidently part ofa great building.

Three men in black, with curious, top-heavy, black velvethats, sat in a line upon a red-carpeted dais. Their faces werevery solemn and sad. On the left stood two long-gowned men withport-folios in their hands, which seemed to be stuffed with papers.Upon the right, looking toward me, was a small woman withblonde hair and singular, light-blue eyes--the eyes of a child.She was past her first youth, but could not yet be called middle-aged.Her figure was inclined to stoutness and her bearing wasproud and confident. Her face was pale, but serene. It was acurious face, comely and yet feline, with a subtle suggestion ofcruelty about the straight, strong little mouth and chubby jaw.She was draped in some sort of loose, white gown. Beside her stooda thin, eager priest, who whispered in her ear, and continuallyraised a crucifix before her eyes. She turned her head and lookedfixedly past the crucifix at the three men in black, who were, Ifelt, her judges.

As I gazed the three men stood up and said something, but Icould distinguish no words, though I was aware that it was thecentral one who was speaking. They then swept out of the room,followed by the two men with the papers. At the same instantseveral rough-looking fellows in stout jerkins came bustling in andremoved first the red carpet, and then the boards which formed thedais, so as to entirely clear the room. When this screen wasremoved I saw some singular articles of furniture behind it. Onelooked like a bed with wooden rollers at each end, and a winchhandle to regulate its length. Another was a wooden horse. Therewere several other curious objects, and a number of swinging cordswhich played over pulleys. It was not unlike a modern gymnasium.

When the room had been cleared there appeared a new figure uponthe scene. This was a tall, thin person clad in black, with agaunt and austere face. The aspect of the man made me shudder.His clothes were all shining with grease and mottled with stains.He bore himself with a slow and impressive dignity, as if he tookcommand of all things from the instant of his entrance. In spiteof his rude appearance and sordid dress, it was now his business,his room, his to command. He carried a coil of light ropes overhis left forearm. The lady looked him up and down with a searchingglance, but her expression was unchanged. It was confident--evendefiant. But it was very different with the priest. His face wasghastly white, and I saw the moisture glisten and run on his high,sloping forehead. He threw up his hands in prayer and he stoopedcontinually to mutter frantic words in the lady's ear.

The man in black now advanced, and taking one of the cords fromhis left arm, he bound the woman's hands together. She held themmeekly toward him as he did so. Then he took her arm with a roughgrip and led her toward the wooden horse, which was little higherthan her waist. On to this she was lifted and laid, with her backupon it, and her face to the ceiling, while the priest, quiveringwith horror, had rushed out of the room. The woman's lips weremoving rapidly, and though I could hear nothing I knew that she waspraying. Her feet hung down on either side of the horse, and I sawthat the rough varlets in attendance had fastened cords to herankles and secured the other ends to iron rings in the stone floor.

My heart sank within me as I saw these ominous preparations,and yet I was held by the fascination of horror, and I could nottake my eyes from the strange spectacle. A man had entered theroom with a bucket of water in either hand. Another followed witha third bucket. They were laid beside the wooden horse. Thesecond man had a wooden dipper--a bowl with a straight handle--inhis other hand. This he gave to the man in black. At the samemoment one of the varlets approached with a dark object in hishand, which even in my dream filled me with a vague feeling offamiliarity. It was a leathern filler. With horrible energy hethrust it--but I could stand no more. My hair stood on end withhorror. I writhed, I struggled, I broke through the bonds ofsleep, and I burst with a shriek into my own life, and found myselflying shivering with terror in the huge library, with the moonlightflooding through the window and throwing strange silver and blacktraceries upon the opposite wall. Oh, what a blessed relief tofeel that I was back in the nineteenth century--back out of thatmediaeval vault into a world where men had human hearts withintheir bosoms. I sat up on my couch, trembling in every limb, mymind divided between thankfulness and horror. To think that suchthings were ever done--that they could be done without God strikingthe villains dead. Was it all a fantasy, or did it really standfor something which had happened in the black, cruel days of theworld's history? I sank my throbbing head upon my shakinghands. And then, suddenly, my heart seemed to stand still in mybosom, and I could not even scream, so great was my terror.Something was advancing toward me through the darkness of the room.

It is a horror coming upon a horror which breaks a man'sspirit. I could not reason, I could not pray; I could only sitlike a frozen image, and glare at the dark figure which was comingdown the great room. And then it moved out into the white lane ofmoonlight, and I breathed once more. It was Dacre, and his faceshowed that he was as frightened as myself.

"Oh, Dacre, I am glad to see you! I have been down into hell.It was dreadful."

"Then it was you who screamed?"

"I dare say it was."

"It rang through the house. The servants are all terrified."He struck a match and lit the lamp. "I think we may get the fireto burn up again," he added, throwing some logs upon the embers."Good God, my dear chap, how white you are! You look as if you hadseen a ghost."

"So I have--several ghosts."

"The leather funnel has acted, then?"

"I wouldn't sleep near the infernal thing again for all themoney you could offer me."

Dacre chuckled.

"I expected that you would have a lively night of it," said he."You took it out of me in return, for that scream of yours wasn'ta very pleasant sound at two in the morning. I suppose from whatyou say that you have seen the whole dreadful business."

"What dreadful business?"

"The torture of the water--the 'Extraordinary Question,' as itwas called in the genial days of 'Le Roi Soleil.' Did you stand itout to the end?"

"No, thank God, I awoke before it really began."

"Ah! it is just as well for you. I held out till the thirdbucket. Well, it is an old story, and they are all in their gravesnow, anyhow, so what does it matter how they got there? I supposethat you have no idea what it was that you have seen?"

"The torture of some criminal. She must have been a terriblemalefactor indeed if her crimes are in proportion to her penalty."

"Well, we have that small consolation," said Dacre, wrappinghis dressing-gown round him and crouching closer to the fire."They WERE in proportion to her penalty. That is to say, if Iam correct in the lady's identity."

"How could you possibly know her identity?"

For answer Dacre took down an old vellum-covered volume fromthe shelf.

"Just listen to this," said he; "it is in the French of theseventeenth century, but I will give a rough translation as I go.You will judge for yourself whether I have solved the riddle ornot.

"'The prisoner was brought before the Grand Chambers andTournelles of Parliament, sitting as a court of justice, chargedwith the murder of Master Dreux d'Aubray, her father, and of hertwo brothers, MM. d'Aubray, one being civil lieutenant, and theother a counsellor of Parliament. In person it seemed hard tobelieve that she had really done such wicked deeds, for she was ofa mild appearance, and of short stature, with a fair skin and blueeyes. Yet the Court, having found her guilty, condemned her to theordinary and to the extraordinary question in order that she mightbe forced to name her accomplices, after which she should becarried in a cart to the Place de Greve, there to have her head cutoff, her body being afterwards burned and her ashes scattered tothe winds.'

"The date of this entry is July 16, 1676."

"It is interesting," said I, "but not convincing. How do youprove the two women to be the same?"

"I am coming to that. The narrative goes on to tell of thewoman's behaviour when questioned. 'When the executionerapproached her she recognized him by the cords which he held in hishands, and she at once held out her own hands to him, looking athim from head to foot without uttering a word.' How's that?"

"Yes, it was so."

"'She gazed without wincing upon the wooden horse and ringswhich had twisted so many limbs and caused so many shrieks ofagony. When her eyes fell upon the three pails of water, whichwere all ready for her, she said with a smile, "All that watermust have been brought here for the purpose of drowning me,Monsieur. You have no idea, I trust, of making a person of mysmall stature swallow it all."' Shall I read the details of thetorture?"

"No, for Heaven's sake, don't."

"Here is a sentence which must surely show you that what ishere recorded is the very scene which you have gazed upon tonight:'The good Abbe Pirot, unable to contemplate the agonies which weresuffered by his penitent, had hurried from the room.' Does thatconvince you?"

"It does entirely. There can be no question that it is indeedthe same event. But who, then, is this lady whose appearance wasso attractive and whose end was so horrible?"

For answer Dacre came across to me, and placed the small lampupon the table which stood by my bed. Lifting up the ill-omenedfiller, he turned the brass rim so that the light fell full uponit. Seen in this way the engraving seemed clearer than on thenight before.

"We have already agreed that this is the badge of a marquis orof a marquise," said he. "We have also settled that the lastletter is B."

"It is undoubtedly so."

"I now suggest to you that the other letters from left to rightare, M, M, a small d, A, a small d, and then the final B."

"Yes, I am sure that you are right. I can make out the twosmall d's quite plainly."

"What I have read to you tonight," said Dacre, "is the officialrecord of the trial of Marie Madeleine d'Aubray, Marquise deBrinvilliers, one of the most famous poisoners and murderers of alltime."

I sat in silence, overwhelmed at the extraordinary nature ofthe incident, and at the completeness of the proof with which Dacrehad exposed its real meaning. In a vague way I remembered somedetails of the woman's career, her unbridled debauchery, the cold-bloodedand protracted torture of her sick father, the murder ofher brothers for motives of petty gain. I recollected also thatthe bravery of her end had done something to atone for the horrorof her life, and that all Paris had sympathized with her lastmoments, and blessed her as a martyr within a few days of thetime when they had cursed her as a murderess. One objection, andone only, occurred to my mind.

"How came her initials and her badge of rank upon the filler?Surely they did not carry their mediaeval homage to the nobility tothe point of decorating instruments of torture with their titles?"

"I was puzzled with the same point," said Dacre, "but it admitsof a simple explanation. The case excited extraordinary interestat the time, and nothing could be more natural than that La Reynie,the head of the police, should retain this filler as a grimsouvenir. It was not often that a marchioness of France underwentthe extraordinary question. That he should engrave her initialsupon it for the information of others was surely a very ordinaryproceeding upon his part."

"And this?" I asked, pointing to the marks upon the leathernneck.

"She was a cruel tigress," said Dacre, as he turned away. "Ithink it is evident that like other tigresses her teeth were bothstrong and sharp."

The New Catacomb

"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, "I do wish that you wouldconfide in me."

The two famous students of Roman remains sat together inKennedy's comfortable room overlooking the Corso. The nightwas cold, and they had both pulled up their chairs to theunsatisfactory Italian stove which threw out a zone of stuffinessrather than of warmth. Outside under the bright winter stars laythe modern Rome, the long, double chain of the electric lamps, thebrilliantly lighted cafes, the rushing carriages, and the densethrong upon the footpaths. But inside, in the sumptuous chamber ofthe rich young English archaeologist, there was only old Rome to beseen. Cracked and timeworn friezes hung upon the walls, grey oldbusts of senators and soldiers with their fighting heads and theirhard, cruel faces peered out from the corners. On the centretable, amidst a litter of inscriptions, fragments, and ornaments,there stood the famous reconstruction by Kennedy of the Baths ofCaracalla, which excited such interest and admiration when it wasexhibited in Berlin. Amphorae hung from the ceiling, and a litterof curiosities strewed the rich red Turkey carpet. And of them allthere was not one which was not of the most unimpeachableauthenticity, and of the utmost rarity and value; for Kennedy,though little more than thirty, had a European reputation in thisparticular branch of research, and was, moreover, provided withthat long purse which either proves to be a fatal handicap to thestudent's energies, or, if his mind is still true to its purpose,gives him an enormous advantage in the race for fame. Kennedy hadoften been seduced by whim and pleasure from his studies, but hismind was an incisive one, capable of long and concentrated effortswhich ended in sharp reactions of sensuous languor. His handsomeface, with its high, white forehead, its aggressive nose, and itssomewhat loose and sensual mouth, was a fair index of thecompromise between strength and weakness in his nature.

Of a very different type was his companion, Julius Burger. Hecame of a curious blend, a German father and an Italian mother,with the robust qualities of the North mingling strangely with thesofter graces of the South. Blue Teutonic eyes lightened his sun-brownedface, and above them rose a square, massive forehead, witha fringe of close yellow curls lying round it. His strong, firmjaw was clean-shaven, and his companion had frequently remarked howmuch it suggested those old Roman busts which peered out from theshadows in the corners of his chamber. Under its bluff Germanstrength there lay always a suggestion of Italian subtlety, butthe smile was so honest, and the eyes so frank, that one understoodthat this was only an indication of his ancestry, with no actualbearing upon his character. In age and in reputation, he was onthe same level as his English companion, but his life and his workhad both been far more arduous. Twelve years before, he had comeas a poor student to Rome, and had lived ever since upon some smallendowment for research which had been awarded to him by theUniversity of Bonn. Painfully, slowly, and doggedly, withextraordinary tenacity and single-mindedness, he had climbed fromrung to rung of the ladder of fame, until now he was a member ofthe Berlin Academy, and there was every reason to believe that hewould shortly be promoted to the Chair of the greatest of GermanUniversities. But the singleness of purpose which had brought himto the same high level as the rich and brilliant Englishman, hadcaused him in everything outside their work to stand infinitelybelow him. He had never found a pause in his studies in which tocultivate the social graces. It was only when he spoke of his ownsubject that his face was filled with life and soul. At othertimes he was silent and embarrassed, too conscious of his ownlimitations in larger subjects, and impatient of that small talkwhich is the conventional refuge of those who have no thoughts toexpress.

And yet for some years there had been an acquaintanceship whichappeared to be slowly ripening into a friendship between these twovery different rivals. The base and origin of this lay in the factthat in their own studies each was the only one of the younger menwho had knowledge and enthusiasm enough to properly appreciate theother. Their common interests and pursuits had brought themtogether, and each had been attracted by the other's knowledge.And then gradually something had been added to this. Kennedy hadbeen amused by the frankness and simplicity of his rival, whileBurger in turn had been fascinated by the brilliancy and vivacitywhich had made Kennedy such a favourite in Roman society. I say"had," because just at the moment the young Englishman was somewhatunder a cloud. A love-affair, the details of which had never quitecome out, had indicated a heartlessness and callousness upon hispart which shocked many of his friends. But in the bachelorcircles of students and artists in which he preferred to movethere is no very rigid code of honour in such matters, and thougha head might be shaken or a pair of shoulders shrugged over theflight of two and the return of one, the general sentiment wasprobably one of curiosity and perhaps of envy rather than ofreprobation.

"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, looking hard at the placidface of his companion, "I do wish that you would confide in me."

As he spoke he waved his hand in the direction of a rug whichlay upon the floor. On the rug stood a long, shallow fruit-basketof the light wicker-work which is used in the Campagna, and thiswas heaped with a litter of objects, inscribed tiles, brokeninscriptions, cracked mosaics, torn papyri, rusty metal ornaments,which to the uninitiated might have seemed to have come straightfrom a dustman's bin, but which a specialist would have speedilyrecognized as unique of their kind. The pile of odds and ends inthe flat wicker-work basket supplied exactly one of those missinglinks of social development which are of such interest to thestudent. It was the German who had brought them in, and theEnglishman's eyes were hungry as he looked at them.

"I won't interfere with your treasure-trove, but I should verymuch like to hear about it," he continued, while Burger verydeliberately lit a cigar. "It is evidently a discovery of thefirst importance. These inscriptions will make a sensationthroughout Europe."

"For every one here there are a million there!" said theGerman. "There are so many that a dozen savants might spend alifetime over them, and build up a reputation as solid as theCastle of St. Angelo."

Kennedy sat thinking with his fine forehead wrinkled and hisfingers playing with his long, fair moustache.

"You have given yourself away, Burger!" said he at last. "Yourwords can only apply to one thing. You have discovered a newcatacomb."

"I had no doubt that you had already come to that conclusionfrom an examination of these objects."

"Well, they certainly appeared to indicate it, but your lastremarks make it certain. There is no place except a catacomb whichcould contain so vast a store of relics as you describe."

"Quite so. There is no mystery about that. I HAVEdiscovered a new catacomb."

"Where?"

"Ah, that is my secret, my dear Kennedy. Suffice it that it isso situated that there is not one chance in a million of anyoneelse coming upon it. Its date is different from that of any knowncatacomb, and it has been reserved for the burial of the highestChristians, so that the remains and the relics are quite differentfrom anything which has ever been seen before. If I was not awareof your knowledge and of your energy, my friend, I would nothesitate, under the pledge of secrecy, to tell you everything aboutit. But as it is I think that I must certainly prepare my ownreport of the matter before I expose myself to such formidablecompetition."

Kennedy loved his subject with a love which was almost amania--a love which held him true to it, amidst all thedistractions which come to a wealthy and dissipated young man. Hehad ambition, but his ambition was secondary to his mere abstractjoy and interest in everything which concerned the old life andhistory of the city. He yearned to see this new underworld whichhis companion had discovered.

"Look here, Burger," said he, earnestly, "I assure you that youcan trust me most implicitly in the matter. Nothing would induceme to put pen to paper about anything which I see until I have yourexpress permission. I quite understand your feeling and I think itis most natural, but you have really nothing whatever to fear fromme. On the other hand, if you don't tell me I shall make asystematic search, and I shall most certainly discover it. In thatcase, of course, I should make what use I liked of it, since Ishould be under no obligation to you."

Burger smiled thoughtfully over his cigar.

"I have noticed, friend Kennedy," said he, "that when I wantinformation over any point you are not always so ready to supplyit."

"When did you ever ask me anything that I did not tell you?You remember, for example, my giving you the material for yourpaper about the temple of the Vestals."

"Ah, well, that was not a matter of much importance. If I wereto question you upon some intimate thing would you give me an answer,I wonder! This new catacomb is a very intimate thing to me,and I should certainly expect some sign of confidence in return."

"What you are driving at I cannot imagine," said theEnglishman, "but if you mean that you will answer my question aboutthe catacomb if I answer any question which you may put to me I canassure you that I will certainly do so."

"Well, then," said Burger, leaning luxuriously back in hissettee, and puffing a blue tree of cigar-smoke into the air, "tellme all about your relations with Miss Mary Saunderson."

Kennedy sprang up in his chair and glared angrily at hisimpassive companion.

"What the devil do you mean?" he cried. "What sort of aquestion is this? You may mean it as a joke, but you never made aworse one."

"No, I don't mean it as a joke," said Burger, simply. "I amreally rather interested in the details of the matter. I don'tknow much about the world and women and social life and that sortof thing, and such an incident has the fascination of the unknownfor me. I know you, and I knew her by sight--I had even spoken toher once or twice. I should very much like to hear from your ownlips exactly what it was which occurred between you."

"I won't tell you a word."

"That's all right. It was only my whim to see if you wouldgive up a secret as easily as you expected me to give up my secretof the new catacomb. You wouldn't, and I didn't expect you to.But why should you expect otherwise of me? There's Saint John'sclock striking ten. It is quite time that I was going home."

"No; wait a bit, Burger," said Kennedy; "this is really aridiculous caprice of yours to wish to know about an old love-affairwhich has burned out months ago. You know we look upon aman who kisses and tells as the greatest coward and villainpossible."

"Certainly," said the German, gathering up his basket ofcuriosities, "when he tells anything about a girl which ispreviously unknown he must be so. But in this case, as you must beaware, it was a public matter which was the common talk of Rome, sothat you are not really doing Miss Mary Saunderson any injuryby discussing her case with me. But still, I respect yourscruples; and so good night!"

"Wait a bit, Burger," said Kennedy, laying his hand upon theother's arm; "I am very keen upon this catacomb business, and Ican't let it drop quite so easily. Would you mind asking mesomething else in return--something not quite so eccentric thistime?"

"No, no; you have refused, and there is an end of it," saidBurger, with his basket on his arm. "No doubt you are quite rightnot to answer, and no doubt I am quite right also--and so again, mydear Kennedy, good night!"

The Englishman watched Burger cross the room, and he had hishand on the handle of the door before his host sprang up with theair of a man who is making the best of that which cannot be helped.

"Hold on, old fellow," said he; "I think you are behaving in amost ridiculous fashion; but still; if this is your condition, Isuppose that I must submit to it. I hate saying anything about agirl, but, as you say, it is all over Rome, and I don't suppose Ican tell you anything which you do not know already. What was ityou wanted to know?"

The German came back to the stove, and, laying down his basket,he sank into his chair once more.

"May I have another cigar?" said he. "Thank you very much! Inever smoke when I work, but I enjoy a chat much more when I amunder the influence of tobacco. Now, as regards this young lady,with whom you had this little adventure. What in the world hasbecome of her?"

"She is at home with her own people."

"Oh, really--in England?"

"Yes."

"What part of England--London?"

"No, Twickenham."

"You must excuse my curiosity, my dear Kennedy, and you mustput it down to my ignorance of the world. No doubt it is quite asimple thing to persuade a young lady to go off with you for threeweeks or so, and then to hand her over to her own family at--whatdid you call the place?"

"Twickenham."

"Quite so--at Twickenham. But it is something so entirelyoutside my own experience that I cannot even imagine how you setabout it. For example, if you had loved this girl your love couldhardly disappear in three weeks, so I presume that you could nothave loved her at all. But if you did not love her why should youmake this great scandal which has damaged you and ruined her?"

Kennedy looked moodily into the red eye of the stove.

"That's a logical way of looking at it, certainly," said he."Love is a big word, and it represents a good many different shadesof feeling. I liked her, and--well, you say you've seen her--youknow how charming she could look. But still I am willing to admit,looking back, that I could never have really loved her."

"Then, my dear Kennedy, why did you do it?"

"The adventure of the thing had a great deal to do with it."

"What! You are so fond of adventures!"

"Where would the variety of life be without them? It was foran adventure that I first began to pay my attentions to her. I'vechased a good deal of game in my time, but there's no chase likethat of a pretty woman. There was the piquant difficulty of italso, for, as she was the companion of Lady Emily Rood, it wasalmost impossible to see her alone. On the top of all the otherobstacles which attracted me, I learned from her own lips veryearly in the proceedings that she was engaged."

"Mein Gott! To whom?"

"She mentioned no names."

"I do not think that anyone knows that. So that made theadventure more alluring, did it?"

"Well, it did certainly give a spice to it. Don't you thinkso?"

"I tell you that I am very ignorant about these things."

"My dear fellow, you can remember that the apple you stole fromyour neighbour's tree was always sweeter than that which fell fromyour own. And then I found that she cared for me."

"What--at once?"

"Oh, no, it took about three months of sapping and mining. Butat last I won her over. She understood that my judicial separationfrom my wife made it impossible for me to do the right thing byher--but she came all the same, and we had a delightful time, aslong as it lasted."

"But how about the other man?"

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose it is the survival of the fittest," said he. "If hehad been the better man she would not have deserted him. Let'sdrop the subject, for I have had enough of it!"

"Only one other thing. How did you get rid of her in threeweeks?"

"Well, we had both cooled down a bit, you understand. Sheabsolutely refused, under any circumstances, to come back to facethe people she had known in Rome. Now, of course, Rome isnecessary to me, and I was already pining to be back at my work--sothere was one obvious cause of separation. Then, again, her oldfather turned up at the hotel in London, and there was a scene, andthe whole thing became so unpleasant that really--though I missedher dreadfully at first--I was very glad to slip out of it. Now,I rely upon you not to repeat anything of what I have said."

"My dear Kennedy, I should not dream of repeating it. But allthat you say interests me very much, for it gives me an insightinto your way of looking at things, which is entirely differentfrom mine, for I have seen so little of life. And now you want toknow about my new catacomb. There's no use my trying to describeit, for you would never find it by that. There is only one thing,and that is for me to take you there."

"That would be splendid."

"When would you like to come?"

"The sooner the better. I am all impatience to see it."

"Well, it is a beautiful night--though a trifle cold. Supposewe start in an hour. We must be very careful to keep the matter toourselves. If anyone saw us hunting in couples they would suspectthat there was something going on."

"We can't be too cautious," said Kennedy. "Is it far?"

"Some miles."

"Not too far to walk?"

"Oh, no, we could walk there easily."

"We had better do so, then. A cabman's suspicions would bearoused if he dropped us both at some lonely spot in the deadof the night."

"Quite so. I think it would be best for us to meet at the Gateof the Appian Way at midnight. I must go back to my lodgings forthe matches and candles and things."

"All right, Burger! I think it is very kind of you to let meinto this secret, and I promise you that I will write nothing aboutit until you have published your report. Good-bye for the present!You will find me at the Gate at twelve."

The cold, clear air was filled with the musical chimes fromthat city of clocks as Burger, wrapped in an Italian overcoat, witha lantern hanging from his hand, walked up to the rendezvous.Kennedy stepped out of the shadow to meet him.

"You are ardent in work as well as in love!" said the German,laughing.

"Yes; I have been waiting here for nearly half an hour."

"I hope you left no clue as to where we were going."

"Not such a fool! By Jove, I am chilled to the bone! Come on,Burger, let us warm ourselves by a spurt of hard walking."

Their footsteps sounded loud and crisp upon the rough stonepaving of the disappointing road which is all that is left of themost famous highway of the world. A peasant or two going home fromthe wine-shop, and a few carts of country produce coming up toRome, were the only things which they met. They swung along, withthe huge tombs looming up through the darkness upon each side ofthem, until they had come as far as the Catacombs of St. Calistus,and saw against a rising moon the great circular bastion of CeciliaMetella in front of them. Then Burger stopped with his hand to hisside.

"Your legs are longer than mine, and you are more accustomed towalking," said he, laughing. "I think that the place where we turnoff is somewhere here. Yes, this is it, round the corner of thetrattoria. Now, it is a very narrow path, so perhaps I had bettergo in front and you can follow."

He had lit his lantern, and by its light they were enabled tofollow a narrow and devious track which wound across the marshes ofthe Campagna. The great Aqueduct of old Rome lay like a monstrouscaterpillar across the moonlit landscape, and their road ledthem under one of its huge arches, and past the circle of crumblingbricks which marks the old arena. At last Burger stopped at asolitary wooden cow-house, and he drew a key from his pocket."Surely your catacomb is not inside a house!" cried Kennedy.

"The entrance to it is. That is just the safeguard which wehave against anyone else discovering it."

"Does the proprietor know of it?"

"Not he. He had found one or two objects which made me almostcertain that his house was built on the entrance to such a place.So I rented it from him, and did my excavations for myself. Comein, and shut the door behind you."

It was a long, empty building, with the mangers of the cowsalong one wall. Burger put his lantern down on the ground, andshaded its light in all directions save one by draping his overcoatround it.

"It might excite remark if anyone saw a light in this lonelyplace," said he. "Just help me to move this boarding."

The flooring was loose in the corner, and plank by plank thetwo savants raised it and leaned it against the wall. Below therewas a square aperture and a stair of old stone steps which led awaydown into the bowels of the earth.

"Be careful!" cried Burger, as Kennedy, in his impatience,hurried down them. "It is a perfect rabbits'-warren below, and ifyou were once to lose your way there the chances would be a hundredto one against your ever coming out again. Wait until I bring thelight."

"How do you find your own way if it is so complicated?"

"I had some very narrow escapes at first, but I have graduallylearned to go about. There is a certain system to it, but it isone which a lost man, if he were in the dark, could not possiblyfind out. Even now I always spin out a ball of string behind mewhen I am going far into the catacomb. You can see for yourselfthat it is difficult, but every one of these passages divides andsubdivides a dozen times before you go a hundred yards."

They had descended some twenty feet from the level of the byre,and they were standing now in a square chamber cut out of the softtufa. The lantern cast a flickering light, bright below anddim above, over the cracked brown walls. In every directionwere the black openings of passages which radiated from this commoncentre.

"I want you to follow me closely, my friend," said Burger. "Donot loiter to look at anything upon the way, for the place to whichI will take you contains all that you can see, and more. It willsave time for us to go there direct."

He led the way down one of the corridors, and the Englishmanfollowed closely at his heels. Every now and then the passagebifurcated, but Burger was evidently following some secret marks ofhis own, for he neither stopped nor hesitated. Everywhere alongthe walls, packed like the berths upon an emigrant ship, lay theChristians of old Rome. The yellow light flickered over theshrivelled features of the mummies, and gleamed upon rounded skullsand long, white armbones crossed over fleshless chests. Andeverywhere as he passed Kennedy looked with wistful eyes uponinscriptions, funeral vessels, pictures, vestments, utensils, alllying as pious hands had placed them so many centuries ago. It wasapparent to him, even in those hurried, passing glances, that thiswas the earliest and finest of the catacombs, containing such astorehouse of Roman remains as had never before come at one timeunder the observation of the student.

"What would happen if the light went out?" he asked, as theyhurried onwards.

"I have a spare candle and a box of matches in my pocket. Bythe way, Kennedy, have you any matches?"

"No; you had better give me some."

"Oh, that is all right. There is no chance of our separating."

"How far are we going? It seems to me that we have walked atleast a quarter of a mile."

"More than that, I think. There is really no limit to thetombs--at least, I have never been able to find any. This is avery difficult place, so I think that I will use our ball ofstring."

He fastened one end of it to a projecting stone and he carriedthe coil in the breast of his coat, paying it out as he advanced.Kennedy saw that it was no unnecessary precaution, for the passageshad become more complex and tortuous than ever, with a perfectnetwork of intersecting corridors. But these all ended in onelarge circular hall with a square pedestal of tufa topped with aslab of marble at one end of it.

"By Jove!" cried Kennedy in an ecstasy, as Burger swung hislantern over the marble. "It is a Christian altar--probably thefirst one in existence. Here is the little consecration cross cutupon the corner of it. No doubt this circular space was used as achurch."

"Precisely," said Burger. "If I had more time I should like toshow you all the bodies which are buried in these niches upon thewalls, for they are the early popes and bishops of the Church, withtheir mitres, their croziers, and full canonicals. Go over to thatone and look at it!"

Kennedy went across, and stared at the ghastly head which layloosely on the shredded and mouldering mitre.

"This is most interesting," said he, and his voice seemed toboom against the concave vault. "As far as my experience goes, itis unique. Bring the lantern over, Burger, for I want to see themall."

But the German had strolled away, and was standing in themiddle of a yellow circle of light at the other side of the hall.

"Do you know how many wrong turnings there are between this andthe stairs?" he asked. "There are over two thousand. No doubt itwas one of the means of protection which the Christians adopted.The odds are two thousand to one against a man getting out, even ifhe had a light; but if he were in the dark it would, of course, befar more difficult."

"So I should think."

"And the darkness is something dreadful. I tried it once foran experiment. Let us try it again!" He stooped to the lantern,and in an instant it was as if an invisible hand was squeezedtightly over each of Kennedy's eyes. Never had he known what suchdarkness was. It seemed to press upon him and to smother him. Itwas a solid obstacle against which the body shrank from advancing.He put his hands out to push it back from him.

"That will do, Burger," said he, "let's have the light again."

But his companion began to laugh, and in that circular room thesound seemed to come from every side at once.

"You seem uneasy, friend Kennedy," said he.

"Go on, man, light the candle!" said Kennedy impatiently.

"It's very strange, Kennedy, but I could not in the least tellby the sound in which direction you stand. Could you tell where Iam?"

"No; you seem to be on every side of me."

"If it were not for this string which I hold in my hand Ishould not have a notion which way to go."

"I dare say not. Strike a light, man, and have an end of thisnonsense."

"Well, Kennedy, there are two things which I understand thatyou are very fond of. The one is an adventure, and the other is anobstacle to surmount. The adventure must be the finding of yourway out of this catacomb. The obstacle will be the darkness andthe two thousand wrong turns which make the way a little difficultto find. But you need not hurry, for you have plenty of time, andwhen you halt for a rest now and then, I should like you just tothink of Miss Mary Saunderson, and whether you treated her quitefairly."

"You devil, what do you mean?" roared Kennedy. He was runningabout in little circles and clasping at the solid blackness withboth hands.

"Good-bye," said the mocking voice, and it was already at somedistance. "I really do not think, Kennedy, even by your ownshowing that you did the right thing by that girl. There was onlyone little thing which you appeared not to know, and I can supplyit. Miss Saunderson was engaged to a poor ungainly devil of astudent, and his name was Julius Burger."

There was a rustle somewhere, the vague sound of a footstriking a stone, and then there fell silence upon that oldChristian church--a stagnant, heavy silence which closed roundKennedy and shut him in like water round a drowning man.

Some two months afterwards the following paragraph made theround of the European Press:

"One of the most interesting discoveries of recent years isthat of the new catacomb in Rome, which lies some distance to theeast of the well-known vaults of St. Calixtus. The finding of thisimportant burial-place, which is exceeding rich in mostinteresting early Christian remains, is due to the energy andsagacity of Dr. Julius Burger, the young German specialist, who israpidly taking the first place as an authority upon ancient Rome.Although the first to publish his discovery, it appears that a lessfortunate adventurer had anticipated Dr. Burger. Some months agoMr. Kennedy, the well-known English student, disappeared suddenlyfrom his rooms in the Corso, and it was conjectured that hisassociation with a recent scandal had driven him to leave Rome. Itappears now that he had in reality fallen a victim to that fervidlove of archaeology which had raised him to a distinguished placeamong living scholars. His body was discovered in the heart of thenew catacomb, and it was evident from the condition of his feet andboots that he had tramped for days through the tortuous corridorswhich make these subterranean tombs so dangerous to explorers. Thedeceased gentleman had, with inexplicable rashness, made his wayinto this labyrinth without, as far as can be discovered, takingwith him either candles or matches, so that his sad fate was thenatural result of his own temerity. What makes the matter morepainful is that Dr. Julius Burger was an intimate friend of thedeceased. His joy at the extraordinary find which he has been sofortunate as to make has been greatly marred by the terrible fateof his comrade and fellow-worker."

The Case of Lady Sannox

The relations between Douglas Stone and the notorious Lady Sannoxwere very well known both among the fashionable circles of whichshe was a brilliant member, and the scientific bodies whichnumbered him among their most illustrious confreres. Therewas naturally, therefore, a very widespread interest when it wasannounced one morning that the lady had absolutely and for evertaken the veil, and that the world would see her no more. When,at the very tail of this rumour, there came the assurance thatthe celebrated operating surgeon, the man of steel nerves, hadbeen found in the morning by his valet, seated on one side of hisbed, smiling pleasantly upon the universe, with both legs jammedinto one side of his breeches and his great brain about asvaluable as a cap full of porridge, the matter was strong enoughto give quite a little thrill of interest to folk who had neverhoped that their jaded nerves were capable of such a sensation.

Douglas Stone in his prime was one of the most remarkable menin England. Indeed, he could hardly be said to have ever reachedhis prime, for he was but nine-and-thirty at the time of thislittle incident. Those who knew him best were aware that famous ashe was as a surgeon, he might have succeeded with even greaterrapidity in any of a dozen lines of life. He could have cut hisway to fame as a soldier, struggled to it as an explorer, bulliedfor it in the courts, or built it out of stone and iron as anengineer. He was born to be great, for he could plan what anotherman dare not do, and he could do what another man dare not plan.In surgery none could follow him. His nerve, his judgement, hisintuition, were things apart. Again and again his knife cut awaydeath, but grazed the very springs of life in doing it, until hisassistants were as white as the patient. His energy, hisaudacity, his full-blooded self-confidence--does not the memoryof them still linger to the south of Marylebone Road and the northof Oxford Street?

His vices were as magnificent as his virtues, and infinitelymore picturesque. Large as was his income, and it was the thirdlargest of all professional men in London, it was far beneath theluxury of his living. Deep in his complex nature lay a rich veinof sensualism, at the sport of which he placed all the prizes ofhis life. The eye, the ear, the touch, the palate, all were hismasters. The bouquet of old vintages, the scent of rare exotics,the curves and tints of the daintiest potteries of Europe, it wasto these that the quick-running stream of gold was transformed.And then there came his sudden mad passion for Lady Sannox, when asingle interview with two challenging glances and a whispered wordset him ablaze. She was the loveliest woman in London and the onlyone to him. He was one of the handsomest men in London, but notthe only one to her. She had a liking for new experiences, and wasgracious to most men who wooed her. It may have been cause or itmay have been effect that Lord Sannox looked fifty, though he wasbut six-and-thirty.

He was a quiet, silent, neutral-tinted man, this lord, withthin lips and heavy eyelids, much given to gardening, and full ofhome-like habits. He had at one time been fond of acting, had evenrented a theatre in London, and on its boards had first seen MissMarion Dawson, to whom he had offered his hand, his title, and thethird of a county. Since his marriage his early hobby had becomedistasteful to him. Even in private theatricals it was no longerpossible to persuade him to exercise the talent which he had oftenshowed that he possessed. He was happier with a spud and awatering-can among his orchids and chrysanthemums.

It was quite an interesting problem whether he was absolutelydevoid of sense, or miserably wanting in spirit. Did he know hislady's ways and condone them, or was he a mere blind, doting fool?It was a point to be discussed over the teacups in snug littledrawing-rooms, or with the aid of a cigar in the bow windows ofclubs. Bitter and plain were the comments among men upon hisconduct. There was but one who had a good word to say for him, andhe was the most silent member in the smoking-room. He had seenhim break in a horse at the University, and it seemed to have leftan impression upon his mind.

But when Douglas Stone became the favourite all doubts as toLord Sannox's knowledge or ignorance were set for ever at rest.There was no subterfuge about Stone. In his high-handed, impetuousfashion, he set all caution and discretion at defiance. Thescandal became notorious. A learned body intimated that his namehad been struck from the list of its vice-presidents. Two friendsimplored him to consider his professional credit. He cursed themall three, and spent forty guineas on a bangle to take with him tothe lady. He was at her house every evening, and she drove in hiscarriage in the afternoons. There was not an attempt on eitherside to conceal their relations; but there came at last a littleincident to interrupt them.

It was a dismal winter's night, very cold and gusty, with thewind whooping in the chimneys and blustering against the window-panes.A thin spatter of rain tinkled on the glass with each freshsough of the gale, drowning for the instant the dull gurgle anddrip from the eaves. Douglas Stone had finished his dinner, andsat by his fire in the study, a glass of rich port upon themalachite table at his elbow. As he raised it to his lips, he heldit up against the lamplight, and watched with the eye of aconnoisseur the tiny scales of beeswing which floated in its richruby depths. The fire, as it spurted up, threw fitful lights uponhis bald, clear-cut face, with its widely-opened grey eyes, itsthick and yet firm lips, and the deep, square jaw, which hadsomething Roman in its strength and its animalism. He smiled fromtime to time as he nestled back in his luxurious chair. Indeed, hehad a right to feel well pleased, for, against the advice of sixcolleagues, he had performed an operation that day of which onlytwo cases were on record, and the result had been brilliant beyondall expectation. No other man in London would have had the daringto plan, or the skill to execute, such a heroic measure.

But he had promised Lady Sannox to see her that evening and itwas already half-past eight. His hand was outstretched to the bellto order the carriage when he heard the dull thud of the knocker.An instant later there was the shuffling of feet in the hall, andthe sharp closing of a door.

"A patient to see you, sir, in the consulting room," said thebutler.

"About himself?"

"No, sir; I think he wants you to go out."

"It is too late," cried Douglas Stone peevishly. "I won't go."

"This is his card, sir."

The butler presented it upon the gold salver which had beengiven to his master by the wife of a Prime Minister.

"'Hamil Ali, Smyrna.' Hum! The fellow is a Turk, I suppose."

"Yes, sir. He seems as if he came from abroad, sir. And he'sin a terrible way."

"Tut, tut! I have an engagement. I must go somewhere else.But I'll see him. Show him in here, Pim."

A few moments later the butler swung open the door and usheredin a small and decrepit man, who walked with a bent back and withthe forward push of the face and blink of the eyes which goes withextreme short sight. His face was swarthy, and his hair and beardof the deepest black. In one hand he held a turban of white muslinstriped with red, in the other a small chamois-leather bag.

"Good evening," said Douglas Stone, when the butler had closedthe door. "You speak English, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. I am from Asia Minor, but I speak English when Ispeak slow."

"You wanted me to go out, I understand?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted very much that you should see my wife."

"I could come in the morning, but I have an engagement whichprevents me from seeing your wife tonight."

The Turk's answer was a singular one. He pulled the stringwhich closed the mouth of the chamois-leather bag, and poured aflood of gold on to the table.

"There are one hundred pounds there," said he, "and I promiseyou that it will not take you an hour. I have a cab ready at thedoor."

Douglas Stone glanced at his watch. An hour would not make ittoo late to visit Lady Sannox. He had been there later. And thefee was an extraordinarily high one. He had been pressed by hiscreditors lately, and he could not afford to let such a chancepass. He would go.

"What is the case?" he asked.

"Oh, it is so sad a one! So sad a one! You have not, perhapsheard of the daggers of the Almohades?"

"Never."

"Ah, they are Eastern daggers of a great age and of a singularshape, with the hilt like what you call a stirrup. I am acuriosity dealer, you understand, and that is why I have come toEngland from Smyrna, but next week I go back once more. Manythings I brought with me, and I have a few things left, but amongthem, to my sorrow, is one of these daggers."

"You will remember that I have an appointment, sir," said thesurgeon, with some irritation; "pray confine yourself to thenecessary details."

"You will see that it is necessary. Today my wife fell down ina faint in the room in which I keep my wares, and she cut her lowerlip upon this cursed dagger of Almohades."

"Yes, and there is no man, East or West, who can tell now whatis the poison or what the cure. But all that is known I know, formy father was in this trade before me, and we have had much to dowith these poisoned weapons."

"What are the symptoms?"

"Deep sleep, and death in thirty hours."

"And you say there is no cure. Why then should you pay me thisconsiderable fee?"

"No drug can cure, but the knife may."

"And how?"

"The poison is slow of absorption. It remains for hours in thewound."

"Washing, then, might cleanse it?"

"No more than in a snake bite. It is too subtle and toodeadly."

"Excision of the wound, then?"

"That is it. If it be on the finger, take the finger off. Sosaid my father always. But think of where this wound is, and thatit is my wife. It is dreadful!"

But familiarity with such grim matters may take the finer edgefrom a man's sympathy. To Douglas Stone this was already aninteresting case, and he brushed aside as irrelevant the feebleobjections of the husband.

"It appears to be that or nothing," said he brusquely. "It isbetter to lose a lip than a life."

"Ah, yes, I know that you are right. Well, well, it is kismet,and it must be faced. I have the cab, and you will come with meand do this thing."

Douglas Stone took his case of bistouries from a drawer, andplaced it with a roll of bandage and a compress of lint in hispocket. He must waste no more time if he were to see Lady Sannox.

"I am ready," said he, pulling on his overcoat. "Will you takea glass of wine before you go out into this cold air?"

His visitor shrank away, with a protesting hand upraised.

"You forget that I am a Mussulman, and a true follower of theProphet," said he. "But tell me what is the bottle of green glasswhich you have placed in your pocket?"

"It is chloroform."

"Ah, that also is forbidden to us. It is a spirit, and we makeno use of such things."

"What! You would allow your wife to go through an operationwithout an anaesthetic?"

"Ah! she will feel nothing, poor soul. The deep sleep hasalready come on, which is the first working of the poison. Andthen I have given her of our Smyrna opium. Come, sir, for alreadyan hour has passed."

As they stepped out into the darkness, a sheet of rain wasdriven in upon their faces, and the hall lamp, which dangled fromthe arm of a marble Caryatid, went out with a fluff. Pim, thebutler, pushed the heavy door to, straining hard with his shoulderagainst the wind, while the two men groped their way towards theyellow glare which showed where the cab was waiting. An instantlater they were rattling upon their journey.

"Is it far?" asked Douglas Stone.

"Oh, no. We have a very little quiet place off the EustonRoad."

The surgeon pressed the spring of his repeater and listened tothe little tings which told him the hour. It was a quarter pastnine. He calculated the distances, and the short time which itwould take him to perform so trivial an operation. He ought toreach Lady Sannox by ten o'clock. Through the fogged windows hesaw the blurred gas lamps dancing past, with occasionally thebroader glare of a shop front. The rain was pelting and rattlingupon the leathern top of the carriage, and the wheels swashed asthey rolled through puddle and mud. Opposite to him the whiteheadgear of his companion gleamed faintly through the obscurity.The surgeon felt in his pockets and arranged his needles, hisligatures and his safety-pins, that no time might be wasted whenthey arrived. He chafed with impatience and drummed his foot uponthe floor.

But the cab slowed down at last and pulled up. In an instantDouglas Stone was out, and the Smyrna merchant's toe was at hisvery heel.

"You can wait," said he to the driver.

It was a mean-looking house in a narrow and sordid street. Thesurgeon, who knew his London well, cast a swift glance into theshadows, but there was nothing distinctive--no shop, no movement,nothing but a double line of dull, flat-faced houses, a doublestretch of wet flagstones which gleamed in the lamplight, and adouble rush of water in the gutters which swirled and gurgledtowards the sewer gratings. The door which faced them was blotchedand discoloured, and a faint light in the fan pane above, it servedto show the dust and the grime which covered it. Above in one ofthe bedroom windows, there was a dull yellow glimmer. The merchantknocked loudly, and, as he turned his dark face towards the light,Douglas Stone could see that it was contracted with anxiety. Abolt was drawn, and an elderly woman with a taper stood in thedoorway, shielding the thin flame with her gnarled hand.

"Is all well?" gasped the merchant.

"She is as you left her, sir."

"She has not spoken?"

"No, she is in a deep sleep."

The merchant closed the door, and Douglas Stone walked down thenarrow passage, glancing about him in some surprise as he did so.There was no oil-cloth, no mat, no hat-rack. Deep grey dust andheavy festoons of cobwebs met his eyes everywhere. Followingthe old woman up the winding stair, his firm footfall echoedharshly through the silent house. There was no carpet.

The bedroom was on the second landing. Douglas Stone followedthe old nurse into it, with the merchant at his heels. Here, atleast, there was furniture and to spare. The floor was litteredand the corners piled with Turkish cabinets, inlaid tables, coatsof chain mail, strange pipes, and grotesque weapons. A singlesmall lamp stood upon a bracket on the wall. Douglas Stone took itdown, and picking his way among the lumber, walked over to a couchin the corner, on which lay a woman dressed in the Turkish fashion,with yashmak and veil. The lower part of the face was exposed, andthe surgeon saw a jagged cut which zigzagged along the border ofthe under lip.

"You will forgive the yashmak," said the Turk. "You know ourviews about women in the East."

But the surgeon was not thinking about the yashmak. This wasno longer a woman to him. It was a case. He stooped and examinedthe wound carefully.

"There are no signs of irritation," said he. "We might delaythe operation until local symptoms develop."

The husband wrung his hands in uncontrollable agitation.

"Oh! sir, sir," he cried. "Do not trifle. You do not know.It is deadly. I know, and I give you my assurance that anoperation is absolutely necessary. Only the knife can save her."

"And yet I am inclined to wait," said Douglas Stone.

"That is enough," the Turk cried, angrily. "Every minute is ofimportance, and I cannot stand here and see my wife allowed tosink. It only remains for me to give you my thanks for havingcome, and to call in some other surgeon before it is too late."

Douglas Stone hesitated. To refund that hundred pounds was nopleasant matter. But of course if he left the case he must returnthe money. And if the Turk were right and the woman died, hisposition before a coroner might be an embarrassing one.

"You have had personal experience of this poison?" he asked.

"I have."

"And you assure me that an operation is needful."

"I swear it by all that I hold sacred."

"The disfigurement will be frightful."

"I can understand that the mouth will not be a pretty one tokiss."

Douglas Stone turned fiercely upon the man. The speech was abrutal one. But the Turk has his own fashion of talk and ofthought, and there was no time for wrangling. Douglas Stone drewa bistoury from his case, opened it and felt the keen straight edgewith his forefinger. Then he held the lamp closer to the bed. Twodark eyes were gazing up at him through the slit in the yashmak.They were all iris, and the pupil was hardly to be seen.

"You have given her a very heavy dose of opium."

"Yes, she has had a good dose."

He glanced again at the dark eyes which looked straight at hisown. They were dull and lustreless, but, even as he gazed, alittle shifting sparkle came into them, and the lips quivered.

"She is not absolutely unconscious," said he.

"Would it not be well to use the knife while it will bepainless?"

The same thought had crossed the surgeon's mind. He graspedthe wounded lip with his forceps, and with two swift cuts he tookout a broad V-shaped piece. The woman sprang up on the couch witha dreadful gurgling scream. Her covering was torn from her face.It was a face that he knew. In spite of that protruding upper lipand that slobber of blood, it was a face that he knew, She kept onputting her hand up to the gap and screaming. Douglas Stone satdown at the foot of the couch with his knife and his forceps. Theroom was whirling round, and he had felt something go like aripping seam behind his ear. A bystander would have said that hisface was the more ghastly of the two. As in a dream, or as if hehad been looking at something at the play, he was conscious thatthe Turk's hair and beard lay upon the table, and that Lord Sannoxwas leaning against the wall with his hand to his side, laughingsilently. The screams had died away now, and the dreadful head haddropped back again upon the pillow, but Douglas Stone still satmotionless, and Lord Sannox still chuckled quietly to himself.

"It was really very necessary for Marion, this operation," saidhe, "not physically, but morally, you know, morally."

Douglas Stone stooped for yards and began to play with thefringe of the coverlet. His knife tinkled down upon the ground,but he still held the forceps and something more.

"I had long intended to make a little example," said LordSannox, suavely. "Your note of Wednesday miscarried, and I have ithere in my pocket-book. I took some pains in carrying out my idea.The wound, by the way, was from nothing more dangerous than mysignet ring."

He glanced keenly at his silent companion, and cocked the smallrevolver which he held in his coat pocket. But Douglas Stone wasstill picking at the coverlet.

"You see you have kept your appointment after all," said LordSannox.

And at that Douglas Stone began to laugh. He laughed long andloudly. But Lord Sannox did not laugh now. Something like fearsharpened and hardened his features. He walked from the room, andhe walked on tiptoe. The old woman was waiting outside.

"Attend to your mistress when she awakes," said Lord Sannox.

Then he went down to the street. The cab was at the door, andthe driver raised his hand to his hat.

"John," said Lord Sannox, "you will take the doctor home first.He will want leading downstairs, I think. Tell his butler that hehas been taken ill at a case."

"Very good, sir."

"Then you can take Lady Sannox home."

"And how about yourself, sir?"

"Oh, my address for the next few months will be Hotel di Roma,Venice. Just see that the letters are sent on. And tell Stevensto exhibit all the purple chrysanthemums next Monday, and to wireme the result."

The Terror of Blue John Gap

The following narrative was found among the papers of Dr. JamesHardcastle, who died of phthisis on February 4th, 1908, at 36,Upper Coventry Flats, South Kensington. Those who knew him best,while refusing to express an opinion upon this particularstatement, are unanimous in asserting that he was a man of a soberand scientific turn of mind, absolutely devoid of imagination, andmost unlikely to invent any abnormal series of events. The paperwas contained in an envelope, which was docketed, "A Short Accountof the Circumstances which occurred near Miss Allerton's Farm inNorth-West Derbyshire in the Spring of Last Year." The envelopewas sealed, and on the other side was written in pencil--

DEAR SEATON,--

"It may interest, and perhaps pain you, to know that theincredulity with which you met my story has prevented me from everopening my mouth upon the subject again. I leave this record aftermy death, and perhaps strangers may be found to have moreconfidence in me than my friend."

Inquiry has failed to elicit who this Seaton may have been. Imay add that the visit of the deceased to Allerton's Farm, and thegeneral nature of the alarm there, apart from his particularexplanation, have been absolutely established. With this forewordI append his account exactly as he left it. It is in the form ofa diary, some entries in which have been expanded, while a few havebeen erased.

April 17.--Already I feel the benefit of this wonderfulupland air. The farm of the Allertons lies fourteen hundred andtwenty feet above sea-level, so it may well be a bracing climate.Beyond the usual morning cough I have very little discomfort, and,what with the fresh milk and the home-grown mutton, I haveevery chance of putting on weight. I think Saunderson will bepleased.

The two Miss Allertons are charmingly quaint and kind, two dearlittle hard-working old maids, who are ready to lavish all theheart which might have gone out to husband and to children upon aninvalid stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most useful person, oneof the reserve forces of the community. They talk of thesuperfluous woman, but what would the poor superfluous man dowithout her kindly presence? By the way, in their simplicity theyvery quickly let out the reason why Saunderson recommended theirfarm. The Professor rose from the ranks himself, and I believethat in his youth he was not above scaring crows in these veryfields.

It is a most lonely spot, and the walks are picturesque in theextreme. The farm consists of grazing land lying at the bottom ofan irregular valley. On each side are the fantastic limestonehills, formed of rock so soft that you can break it away with yourhands. All this country is hollow. Could you strike it with somegigantic hammer it would boom like a drum, or possibly cave inaltogether and expose some huge subterranean sea. A great seathere must surely be, for on all sides the streams run into themountain itself, never to reappear. There are gaps everywhere amidthe rocks, and when you pass through them you find yourself ingreat caverns, which wind down into the bowels of the earth. Ihave a small bicycle lamp, and it is a perpetual joy to me to carryit into these weird solitudes, and to see the wonderful silver andblack effect when I throw its light upon the stalactites whichdrape the lofty roofs. Shut off the lamp, and you are in theblackest darkness. Turn it on, and it is a scene from the ArabianNights.

But there is one of these strange openings in the earth whichhas a special interest, for it is the handiwork, not of nature, butof man. I had never heard of Blue John when I came to these parts.It is the name given to a peculiar mineral of a beautiful purpleshade, which is only found at one or two places in the world. Itis so rare that an ordinary vase of Blue John would be valued at agreat price. The Romans, with that extraordinary instinct oftheirs, discovered that it was to be found in this valley, and sanka horizontal shaft deep into the mountain side. The opening oftheir mine has been called Blue John Gap, a clean-cut arch inthe rock, the mouth all overgrown with bushes. It is a goodlypassage which the Roman miners have cut, and it intersects some ofthe great water-worn caves, so that if you enter Blue John Gap youwould do well to mark your steps and to have a good store ofcandles, or you may never make your way back to the daylight again.I have not yet gone deeply into it, but this very day I stood atthe mouth of the arched tunnel, and peering down into the blackrecesses beyond, I vowed that when my health returned I woulddevote some holiday to exploring those mysterious depths andfinding out for myself how far the Roman had penetrated into theDerbyshire hills.

Strange how superstitious these countrymen are! I should havethought better of young Armitage, for he is a man of some educationand character, and a very fine fellow for his station in life. Iwas standing at the Blue John Gap when he came across the field tome.

"Well, doctor," said he, "you're not afraid, anyhow."

"Afraid!" I answered. "Afraid of what?"

"Of it," said he, with a jerk of his thumb towards the blackvault, "of the Terror that lives in the Blue John Cave."

How absurdly easy it is for a legend to arise in a lonelycountryside! I examined him as to the reasons for his weirdbelief. It seems that from time to time sheep have been missingfrom the fields, carried bodily away, according to Armitage. Thatthey could have wandered away of their own accord and disappearedamong the mountains was an explanation to which he would notlisten. On one occasion a pool of blood had been found, and sometufts of wool. That also, I pointed out, could be explained in aperfectly natural way. Further, the nights upon which sheepdisappeared were invariably very dark, cloudy nights with no moon.This I met with the obvious retort that those were the nights whicha commonplace sheep-stealer would naturally choose for his work.On one occasion a gap had been made in a wall, and some ofthe stones scattered for a considerable distance. Human agencyagain, in my opinion. Finally, Armitage clinched all his argumentsby telling me that he had actually heard the Creature--indeed, thatanyone could hear it who remained long enough at the Gap. It wasa distant roaring of an immense volume. I could not but smileat this, knowing, as I do, the strange reverberations which comeout of an underground water system running amid the chasms of alimestone formation. My incredulity annoyed Armitage so that heturned and left me with some abruptness.

And now comes the queer point about the whole business. I wasstill standing near the mouth of the cave turning over in my mindthe various statements of Armitage, and reflecting how readily theycould be explained away, when suddenly, from the depth of thetunnel beside me, there issued a most extraordinary sound. Howshall I describe it? First of all, it seemed to be a greatdistance away, far down in the bowels of the earth. Secondly, inspite of this suggestion of distance, it was very loud. Lastly, itwas not a boom, nor a crash, such as one would associate withfalling water or tumbling rock, but it was a high whine, tremulousand vibrating, almost like the whinnying of a horse. It wascertainly a most remarkable experience, and one which for a moment,I must admit, gave a new significance to Armitage's words. Iwaited by the Blue John Gap for half an hour or more, but there wasno return of the sound, so at last I wandered back to thefarmhouse, rather mystified by what had occurred. Decidedly Ishall explore that cavern when my strength is restored. Of course,Armitage's explanation is too absurd for discussion, and yet thatsound was certainly very strange. It still rings in my ears as Iwrite.

April 20.--In the last three days I have made severalexpeditions to the Blue John Gap, and have even penetrated someshort distance, but my bicycle lantern is so small and weak that Idare not trust myself very far. I shall do the thing moresystematically. I have heard no sound at all, and could almostbelieve that I had been the victim of some hallucination suggested,perhaps, by Armitage's conversation. Of course, the whole idea isabsurd, and yet I must confess that those bushes at the entrance ofthe cave do present an appearance as if some heavy creature hadforced its way through them. I begin to be keenly interested. Ihave said nothing to the Miss Allertons, for they are quitesuperstitious enough already, but I have bought some candles, andmean to investigate for myself.

I observed this morning that among the numerous tufts ofsheep's wool which lay among the bushes near the cavern therewas one which was smeared with blood. Of course, my reason tellsme that if sheep wander into such rocky places they are likely toinjure themselves, and yet somehow that splash of crimson gave mea sudden shock, and for a moment I found myself shrinking back inhorror from the old Roman arch. A fetid breath seemed to ooze fromthe black depths into which I peered. Could it indeed be possiblethat some nameless thing, some dreadful presence, was lurking downyonder? I should have been incapable of such feelings in the daysof my strength, but one grows more nervous and fanciful when one'shealth is shaken.

For the moment I weakened in my resolution, and was ready toleave the secret of the old mine, if one exists, for ever unsolved.But tonight my interest has returned and my nerves grown moresteady. Tomorrow I trust that I shall have gone more deeply intothis matter.

April 22.--Let me try and set down as accurately as I canmy extraordinary experience of yesterday. I started in theafternoon, and made my way to the Blue John Gap. I confess that mymisgivings returned as I gazed into its depths, and I wished thatI had brought a companion to share my exploration. Finally, witha return of resolution, I lit my candle, pushed my way through thebriars, and descended into the rocky shaft.

It went down at an acute angle for some fifty feet, the floorbeing covered with broken stone. Thence there extended a long,straight passage cut in the solid rock. I am no geologist, but thelining of this corridor was certainly of some harder material thanlimestone, for there were points where I could actually see thetool-marks which the old miners had left in their excavation, asfresh as if they had been done yesterday. Down this strange, old-worldcorridor I stumbled, my feeble flame throwing a dim circle oflight around me, which made the shadows beyond the more threateningand obscure. Finally, I came to a spot where the Roman tunnelopened into a water-worn cavern--a huge hall, hung with long whiteicicles of lime deposit. From this central chamber I could dimlyperceive that a number of passages worn by the subterranean streamswound away into the depths of the earth. I was standing therewondering whether I had better return, or whether I dare venturefarther into this dangerous labyrinth, when my eyes fell uponsomething at my feet which strongly arrested my attention.

The greater part of the floor of the cavern was covered withboulders of rock or with hard incrustations of lime, but at thisparticular point there had been a drip from the distant roof, whichhad left a patch of soft mud. In the very centre of this there wasa huge mark--an ill-defined blotch, deep, broad and irregular, asif a great boulder had fallen upon it. No loose stone lay near,however, nor was there anything to account for the impression. Itwas far too large to be caused by any possible animal, and besides,there was only the one, and the patch of mud was of such a sizethat no reasonable stride could have covered it. As I rose fromthe examination of that singular mark and then looked round intothe black shadows which hemmed me in, I must confess that I feltfor a moment a most unpleasant sinking of my heart, and that, dowhat I could, the candle trembled in my outstretched hand.

I soon recovered my nerve, however, when I reflected how absurdit was to associate so huge and shapeless a mark with the track ofany known animal. Even an elephant could not have produced it. Idetermined, therefore, that I would not be scared by vague andsenseless fears from carrying out my exploration. Beforeproceeding, I took good note of a curious rock formation in thewall by which I could recognize the entrance of the Roman tunnel.The precaution was very necessary, for the great cave, so far as Icould see it, was intersected by passages. Having made sure of myposition, and reassured myself by examining my spare candles and mymatches, I advanced slowly over the rocky and uneven surface of thecavern.

And now I come to the point where I met with such sudden anddesperate disaster. A stream, some twenty feet broad, ran acrossmy path, and I walked for some little distance along the bank tofind a spot where I could cross dry-shod. Finally, I came to aplace where a single flat boulder lay near the centre, which Icould reach in a stride. As it chanced, however, the rock had beencut away and made top-heavy by the rush of the stream, so thatit tilted over as I landed on it and shot me into the ice-coldwater. My candle went out, and I found myself floundering about inutter and absolute darkness.

I staggered to my feet again, more amused than alarmed by myadventure. The candle had fallen from my hand, and was lost in thestream, but I had two others in my pocket, so that it was of noimportance. I got one of them ready, and drew out my box ofmatches to light it. Only then did I realize my position. The boxhad been soaked in my fall into the river. It was impossible tostrike the matches.

A cold hand seemed to close round my heart as I realized myposition. The darkness was opaque and horrible. It was so utterone put one's hand up to one's face as if to press off somethingsolid. I stood still, and by an effort I steadied myself. I triedto reconstruct in my mind a map of the floor of the cavern as I hadlast seen it. Alas! the bearings which had impressed themselvesupon my mind were high on the wall, and not to be found by touch.Still, I remembered in a general way how the sides were situated,and I hoped that by groping my way along them I should at last cometo the opening of the Roman tunnel. Moving very slowly, andcontinually striking against the rocks, I set out on this desperatequest.

But I very soon realized how impossible it was. In that black,velvety darkness one lost all one's bearings in an instant. BeforeI had made a dozen paces, I was utterly bewildered as to mywhereabouts. The rippling of the stream, which was the one soundaudible, showed me where it lay, but the moment that I left itsbank I was utterly lost. The idea of finding my way back inabsolute darkness through that limestone labyrinth was clearly animpossible one.

I sat down upon a boulder and reflected upon my unfortunateplight. I had not told anyone that I proposed to come to the BlueJohn mine, and it was unlikely that a search party would come afterme. Therefore I must trust to my own resources to get clear of thedanger. There was only one hope, and that was that the matchesmight dry. When I fell into the river, only half of me had gotthoroughly wet. My left shoulder had remained above the water. Itook the box of matches, therefore, and put it into my left armpit.The moist air of the cavern might possibly be counteracted bythe heat of my body, but even so, I knew that I could not hope toget a light for many hours. Meanwhile there was nothing for it butto wait.

By good luck I had slipped several biscuits into my pocketbefore I left the farm-house. These I now devoured, and washedthem down with a draught from that wretched stream which had beenthe cause of all my misfortunes. Then I felt about for acomfortable seat among the rocks, and, having discovered a placewhere I could get a support for my back, I stretched out my legsand settled myself down to wait. I was wretchedly damp and cold,but I tried to cheer myself with the reflection that modern scienceprescribed open windows and walks in all weather for my disease.Gradually, lulled by the monotonous gurgle of the stream, and bythe absolute darkness, I sank into an uneasy slumber.

How long this lasted I cannot say. It may have been for anhour, it may have been for several. Suddenly I sat up on my rockcouch, with every nerve thrilling and every sense acutely on thealert. Beyond all doubt I had heard a sound--some sound verydistinct from the gurgling of the waters. It had passed, but thereverberation of it still lingered in my ear. Was it a searchparty? They would most certainly have shouted, and vague as thissound was which had wakened me, it was very distinct from the humanvoice. I sat palpitating and hardly daring to breathe. There itwas again! And again! Now it had become continuous. It was atread--yes, surely it was the tread of some living creature.But what a tread it was! It gave one the impression of enormousweight carried upon sponge-like feet, which gave forth a muffledbut ear-filling sound. The darkness was as complete as ever, butthe tread was regular and decisive. And it was coming beyond allquestion in my direction.

My skin grew cold, and my hair stood on end as I listened tothat steady and ponderous footfall. There was some creature there,and surely by the speed of its advance, it was one which could seein the dark. I crouched low on my rock and tried to blend myselfinto it. The steps grew nearer still, then stopped, and presentlyI was aware of a loud lapping and gurgling. The creature wasdrinking at the stream. Then again there was silence, broken by asuccession of long sniffs and snorts of tremendous volume andenergy. Had it caught the scent of me? My own nostrils werefilled by a low fetid odour, mephitic and abominable. Then I heardthe steps again. They were on my side of the stream now. Thestones rattled within a few yards of where I lay. Hardly daring tobreathe, I crouched upon my rock. Then the steps drew away. Iheard the splash as it returned across the river, and the sounddied away into the distance in the direction from which it hadcome.

For a long time I lay upon the rock, too much horrified tomove. I thought of the sound which I had heard coming from thedepths of the cave, of Armitage's fears, of the strange impressionin the mud, and now came this final and absolute proof that therewas indeed some inconceivable monster, something utterly unearthlyand dreadful, which lurked in the hollow of the mountain. Of itsnature or form I could frame no conception, save that it was bothlight-footed and gigantic. The combat between my reason, whichtold me that such things could not be, and my senses, which told methat they were, raged within me as I lay. Finally, I was almostready to persuade myself that this experience had been part of someevil dream, and that my abnormal condition might have conjured upan hallucination. But there remained one final experience whichremoved the last possibility of doubt from my mind.

I had taken my matches from my armpit and felt them. Theyseemed perfectly hard and dry. Stooping down into a crevice of therocks, I tried one of them. To my delight it took fire at once.I lit the candle, and, with a terrified backward glance into theobscure depths of the cavern, I hurried in the direction of theRoman passage. As I did so I passed the patch of mud on which Ihad seen the huge imprint. Now I stood astonished before it, forthere were three similar imprints upon its surface, enormous insize, irregular in outline, of a depth which indicated theponderous weight which had left them. Then a great terror surgedover me. Stooping and shading my candle with my hand, I ran in afrenzy of fear to the rocky archway, hastened up it, and neverstopped until, with weary feet and panting lungs, I rushed up thefinal slope of stones, broke through the tangle of briars, andflung myself exhausted upon the soft grass under the peaceful lightof the stars. It was three in the morning when I reached the farm-house,and today I am all unstrung and quivering after myterrific adventure. As yet I have told no one. I must move warilyin the matter. What would the poor lonely women, or the uneducatedyokels here think of it if I were to tell them my experience? Letme go to someone who can understand and advise.

April 25.--I was laid up in bed for two days after myincredible adventure in the cavern. I use the adjective with avery definite meaning, for I have had an experience since which hasshocked me almost as much as the other. I have said that I waslooking round for someone who could advise me. There is a Dr. MarkJohnson who practices some few miles away, to whom I had a note ofrecommendation from Professor Saunderson. To him I drove,when I was strong enough to get about, and I recounted to him mywhole strange experience. He listened intently, and then carefullyexamined me, paying special attention to my reflexes and to thepupils of my eyes. When he had finished, he refused to discuss myadventure, saying that it was entirely beyond him, but he gave methe card of a Mr. Picton at Castleton, with the advice that Ishould instantly go to him and tell him the story exactly as I haddone to himself. He was, according to my adviser, the very man whowas pre-eminently suited to help me. I went on to the station,therefore, and made my way to the little town, which is some tenmiles away. Mr. Picton appeared to be a man of importance, as hisbrass plate was displayed upon the door of a considerable buildingon the outskirts of the town. I was about to ring his bell, whensome misgiving came into my mind, and, crossing to a neighbouringshop, I asked the man behind the counter if he could tell meanything of Mr. Picton. "Why," said he, "he is the best mad doctorin Derbyshire, and yonder is his asylum." You can imagine that itwas not long before I had shaken the dust of Castleton from my feetand returned to the farm, cursing all unimaginative pedants whocannot conceive that there may be things in creation which havenever yet chanced to come across their mole's vision. After all,now that I am cooler, I can afford to admit that I have been nomore sympathetic to Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to me.

April 27. When I was a student I had the reputation ofbeing a man of courage and enterprise. I remember that when therewas a ghost-hunt at Coltbridge it was I who sat up in thehaunted house. Is it advancing years (after all, I am only thirty-five),or is it this physical malady which has caused degeneration?Certainly my heart quails when I think of that horrible cavern inthe hill, and the certainty that it has some monstrous occupant.What shall I do? There is not an hour in the day that I do notdebate the question. If I say nothing, then the mystery remainsunsolved. If I do say anything, then I have the alternative of madalarm over the whole countryside, or of absolute incredulity whichmay end in consigning me to an asylum. On the whole, I think thatmy best course is to wait, and to prepare for some expedition whichshall be more deliberate and better thought out than the last. Asa first step I have been to Castleton and obtained a fewessentials--a large acetylene lantern for one thing, and a gooddouble-barrelled sporting rifle for another. The latter I havehired, but I have bought a dozen heavy game cartridges, which wouldbring down a rhinoceros. Now I am ready for my troglodyte friend.Give me better health and a little spate of energy, and I shall tryconclusions with him yet. But who and what is he? Ah! there isthe question which stands between me and my sleep. How manytheories do I form, only to discard each in turn! It is all soutterly unthinkable. And yet the cry, the footmark, the tread inthe cavern--no reasoning can get past these I think of the old-worldlegends of dragons and of other monsters. Were they,perhaps, not such fairy-tales as we have thought? Can it be thatthere is some fact which underlies them, and am I, of all mortals,the one who is chosen to expose it?

May 3.--For several days I have been laid up by the vagaries of anEnglish spring, and during those days there have been developments, thetrue and sinister meaning of which no one can appreciate save myself. Imay say that we have had cloudy and moonless nights of late, whichaccording to my information were the seasons upon which sheepdisappeared. Well, sheep have disappeared. Two of Miss Allerton's, oneof old Pearson's of the Cat Walk, and one of Mrs. Moulton's. Four in allduring three nights. No trace is left of them at all, and thecountryside is buzzing with rumours of gipsies and of sheep-stealers.

But there is something more serious than that. Young Armitagehas disappeared also. He left his moorland cottage early onWednesday night and has never been heard of since. He was anunattached man, so there is less sensation than would otherwise bethe case. The popular explanation is that he owes money, and hasfound a situation in some other part of the country, whence he willpresently write for his belongings. But I have grave misgivings.Is it not much more likely that the recent tragedy of the sheep hascaused him to take some steps which may have ended in his owndestruction? He may, for example, have lain in wait for thecreature and been carried off by it into the recesses of themountains. What an inconceivable fate for a civilized Englishmanof the twentieth century! And yet I feel that it is possible andeven probable. But in that case, how far am I answerable both forhis death and for any other mishap which may occur? Surely withthe knowledge I already possess it must be my duty to see thatsomething is done, or if necessary to do it myself. It must be thelatter, for this morning I went down to the local police-stationand told my story. The inspector entered it all in a large bookand bowed me out with commendable gravity, but I heard a burst oflaughter before I had got down his garden path. No doubt he wasrecounting my adventure to his family.

June 10.--I am writing this, propped up in bed, six weeksafter my last entry in this journal. I have gone through aterrible shock both to mind and body, arising from such anexperience as has seldom befallen a human being before. But I haveattained my end. The danger from the Terror which dwells in theBlue John Gap has passed never to return. Thus much at least I, abroken invalid, have done for the common good. Let me now recountwhat occurred as clearly as I may.

The night of Friday, May 3rd, was dark and cloudy--the verynight for the monster to walk. About eleven o'clock I went fromthe farm-house with my lantern and my rifle, having first left anote upon the table of my bedroom in which I said that, if I weremissing, search should be made for me in the direction of the Gap.I made my way to the mouth of the Roman shaft, and, having perchedmyself among the rocks close to the opening, I shut off my lanternand waited patiently with my loaded rifle ready to my hand.

It was a melancholy vigil. All down the winding valley I couldsee the scattered lights of the farm-houses, and the church clockof Chapel-le-Dale tolling the hours came faintly to my ears.These tokens of my fellow-men served only to make my own positionseem the more lonely, and to call for a greater effort to overcomethe terror which tempted me continually to get back to the farm,and abandon for ever this dangerous quest. And yet there lies deepin every man a rooted self-respect which makes it hard for him toturn back from that which he has once undertaken. This feeling ofpersonal pride was my salvation now, and it was that alone whichheld me fast when every instinct of my nature was dragging me away.I am glad now that I had the strength. In spite of all that is hascost me, my manhood is at least above reproach.

Twelve o'clock struck in the distant church, then one, thentwo. It was the darkest hour of the night. The clouds weredrifting low, and there was not a star in the sky. An owl washooting somewhere among the rocks, but no other sound, save thegentle sough of the wind, came to my ears. And then suddenly Iheard it! From far away down the tunnel came those muffled steps,so soft and yet so ponderous. I heard also the rattle of stones asthey gave way under that giant tread. They drew nearer. They wereclose upon me. I heard the crashing of the bushes round theentrance, and then dimly through the darkness I was conscious ofthe loom of some enormous shape, some monstrous inchoate creature,passing swiftly and very silently out from the tunnel. I wasparalysed with fear and amazement. Long as I had waited, now thatit had actually come I was unprepared for the shock. I laymotionless and breathless, whilst the great dark mass whisked by meand was swallowed up in the night.

But now I nerved myself for its return. No sound came from thesleeping countryside to tell of the horror which was loose. In noway could I judge how far off it was, what it was doing, or when itmight be back. But not a second time should my nerve fail me, nota second time should it pass unchallenged. I swore it between myclenched teeth as I laid my cocked rifle across the rock.

And yet it nearly happened. There was no warning of approachnow as the creature passed over the grass. Suddenly, like a dark,drifting shadow, the huge bulk loomed up once more before me,making for the entrance of the cave. Again came that paralysis ofvolition which held my crooked forefinger impotent upon thetrigger. But with a desperate effort I shook it off. Even as thebrushwood rustled, and the monstrous beast blended with the shadowof the Gap, I fired at the retreating form. In the blaze of thegun I caught a glimpse of a great shaggy mass, something with roughand bristling hair of a withered grey colour, fading away to whitein its lower parts, the huge body supported upon short, thick,curving legs. I had just that glance, and then I heard the rattleof the stones as the creature tore down into its burrow. In aninstant, with a triumphant revulsion of feeling, I had cast myfears to the wind, and uncovering my powerful lantern, with myrifle in my hand, I sprang down from my rock and rushed after themonster down the old Roman shaft.

My splendid lamp cast a brilliant flood of vivid light in frontof me, very different from the yellow glimmer which had aided medown the same passage only twelve days before. As I ran, I saw thegreat beast lurching along before me, its huge bulk filling up thewhole space from wall to wall. Its hair looked like coarse fadedoakum, and hung down in long, dense masses which swayed as itmoved. It was like an enormous unclipped sheep in its fleece, butin size it was far larger than the largest elephant, and itsbreadth seemed to be nearly as great as its height. It fills mewith amazement now to think that I should have dared to follow sucha horror into the bowels of the earth, but when one's blood is up,and when one's quarry seems to be flying, the old primeval hunting-spiritawakes and prudence is cast to the wind. Rifle in hand, Iran at the top of my speed upon the trail of the monster.

I had seen that the creature was swift. Now I was to find outto my cost that it was also very cunning. I had imagined that itwas in panic flight, and that I had only to pursue it. The ideathat it might turn upon me never entered my excited brain. I havealready explained that the passage down which I was racing openedinto a great central cave. Into this I rushed, fearful lest Ishould lose all trace of the beast. But he had turned upon his owntraces, and in a moment we were face to face.

That picture, seen in the brilliant white light of the lantern,is etched for ever upon my brain. He had reared up on his hindlegs as a bear would do, and stood above me, enormous, menacing--sucha creature as no nightmare had ever brought to my imagination.I have said that he reared like a bear, and there was somethingbear-like--if one could conceive a bear which was ten-fold the bulkof any bear seen upon earth--in his whole pose and attitude, in hisgreat crooked forelegs with their ivory-white claws, in his ruggedskin, and in his red, gaping mouth, fringed with monstrous fangs.Only in one point did he differ from the bear, or from any othercreature which walks the earth, and even at that supreme moment ashudder of horror passed over me as I observed that the eyes whichglistened in the glow of my lantern were huge, projecting bulbs,white and sightless. For a moment his great paws swung over myhead. The next he fell forward upon me, I and my broken lanterncrashed to the earth, and I remember no more.

When I came to myself I was back in the farm-house of theAllertons. Two days had passed since my terrible adventure in theBlue John Gap. It seems that I had lain all night in the caveinsensible from concussion of the brain, with my left arm and tworibs badly fractured. In the morning my note had been found, asearch party of a dozen farmers assembled, and I had been trackeddown and carried back to my bedroom, where I had lain in highdelirium ever since. There was, it seems, no sign of the creature,and no bloodstain which would show that my bullet had found him ashe passed. Save for my own plight and the marks upon the mud,there was nothing to prove that what I said was true.

Six weeks have now elapsed, and I am able to sit out once morein the sunshine. Just opposite me is the steep hillside, grey withshaly rock, and yonder on its flank is the dark cleft which marksthe opening of the Blue John Gap. But it is no longer a source ofterror. Never again through that ill-omened tunnel shall anystrange shape flit out into the world of men. The educated and thescientific, the Dr. Johnsons and the like, may smile at mynarrative, but the poorer folk of the countryside had never a doubtas to its truth. On the day after my recovering consciousnessthey assembled in their hundreds round the Blue John Gap. As theCastleton Courier said:

"It was useless for our correspondent, or for any of theadventurous gentlemen who had come from Matlock, Buxton, and otherparts, to offer to descend, to explore the cave to the end, and tofinally test the extraordinary narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle.The country people had taken the matter into their own hands, andfrom an early hour of the morning they had worked hard in stoppingup the entrance of the tunnel. There is a sharp slope where theshaft begins, and great boulders, rolled along by many willinghands, were thrust down it until the Gap was absolutely sealed. Soends the episode which has caused such excitement throughout thecountry. Local opinion is fiercely divided upon the subject. Onthe one hand are those who point to Dr. Hardcastle's impairedhealth, and to the possibility of cerebral lesions of tubercularorigin giving rise to strange hallucinations. Some idee fixe,according to these gentlemen, caused the doctor to wander down thetunnel, and a fall among the rocks was sufficient to account forhis injuries. On the other hand, a legend of a strange creature inthe Gap has existed for some months back, and the farmers look uponDr. Hardcastle's narrative and his personal injuries as a finalcorroboration. So the matter stands, and so the matter willcontinue to stand, for no definite solution seems to us to be nowpossible. It transcends human wit to give any scientificexplanation which could cover the alleged facts."

Perhaps before the Courier published these words they wouldhave been wise to send their representative to me. I have thoughtthe matter out, as no one else has occasion to do, and it ispossible that I might have removed some of the more obviousdifficulties of the narrative and brought it one degree nearer toscientific acceptance. Let me then write down the only explanationwhich seems to me to elucidate what I know to my cost to have beena series of facts. My theory may seem to be wildly improbable, butat least no one can venture to say that it is impossible.

My view is--and it was formed, as is shown by my diary, beforemy personal adventure--that in this part of England there is avast subterranean lake or sea, which is fed by the great number ofstreams which pass down through the limestone. Where there is alarge collection of water there must also be some evaporation,mists or rain, and a possibility of vegetation. This in turnsuggests that there may be animal life, arising, as the vegetablelife would also do, from those seeds and types which had beenintroduced at an early period of the world's history, whencommunication with the outer air was more easy. This place hadthen developed a fauna and flora of its own, including suchmonsters as the one which I had seen, which may well have been theold cave-bear, enormously enlarged and modified by its newenvironment. For countless aeons the internal and the externalcreation had kept apart, growing steadily away from each other.Then there had come some rift in the depths of the mountain whichhad enabled one creature to wander up and, by means of the Romantunnel, to reach the open air. Like all subterranean life, it hadlost the power of sight, but this had no doubt been compensated forby nature in other directions. Certainly it had some means offinding its way about, and of hunting down the sheep upon thehillside. As to its choice of dark nights, it is part of my theorythat light was painful to those great white eyeballs, and that itwas only a pitch-black world which it could tolerate. Perhaps,indeed, it was the glare of my lantern which saved my life at thatawful moment when we were face to face. So I read the riddle. Ileave these facts behind me, and if you can explain them, do so; orif you choose to doubt them, do so. Neither your belief nor yourincredulity can alter them, nor affect one whose task is nearlyover.

So ended the strange narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle.

The Brazilian Cat

It is hard luck on a young fellow to have expensive tastes, greatexpectations, aristocratic connections, but no actual money inhis pocket, and no profession by which he may earn any. The factwas that my father, a good, sanguine, easy-going man, had suchconfidence in the wealth and benevolence of his bachelor elderbrother, Lord Southerton, that he took it for granted that I, hisonly son, would never be called upon to earn a living for myself.He imagined that if there were not a vacancy for me on the greatSoutherton Estates, at least there would be found some post inthat diplomatic service which still remains the special preserveof our privileged classes. He died too early to realize howfalse his calculations had been. Neither my uncle nor the Statetook the slightest notice of me, or showed any interest in mycareer. An occasional brace of pheasants, or basket of hares,was all that ever reached me to remind me that I was heir toOtwell House and one of the richest estates in the country. Inthe meantime, I found myself a bachelor and man about town,living in a suite of apartments in Grosvenor Mansions, with nooccupation save that of pigeon-shooting and polo-playing atHurlingham. Month by month I realized that it was more and moredifficult to get the brokers to renew my bills, or to cash anyfurther post-obits upon an unentailed property. Ruin lay rightacross my path, and every day I saw it clearer, nearer, and moreabsolutely unavoidable.

What made me feel my own poverty the more was that, apart fromthe great wealth of Lord Southerton, all my other relations werefairly well-to-do. The nearest of these was Everard King, myfather's nephew and my own first cousin, who had spent anadventurous life in Brazil, and had now returned to this country tosettle down on his fortune. We never knew how he made his money,but he appeared to have plenty of it, for he bought the estate ofGreylands, near Clipton-on-the-Marsh, in Suffolk. For thefirst year of his residence in England he took no more notice of methan my miserly uncle; but at last one summer morning, to my verygreat relief and joy, I received a letter asking me to come downthat very day and spend a short visit at Greylands Court. I wasexpecting a rather long visit to Bankruptcy Court at the time, andthis interruption seemed almost providential. If I could only geton terms with this unknown relative of mine, I might pull throughyet. For the family credit he could not let me go entirely to thewall. I ordered my valet to pack my valise, and I set off the sameevening for Clipton-on-the-Marsh.

After changing at Ipswich, a little local train deposited me ata small, deserted station lying amidst a rolling grassy country,with a sluggish and winding river curving in and out amidst thevalleys, between high, silted banks, which showed that we werewithin reach of the tide. No carriage was awaiting me (I foundafterwards that my telegram had been delayed), so I hired a dogcartat the local inn. The driver, an excellent fellow, was full of myrelative's praises, and I learned from him that Mr. Everard Kingwas already a name to conjure with in that part of the county. Hehad entertained the school-children, he had thrown his grounds opento visitors, he had subscribed to charities--in short, hisbenevolence had been so universal that my driver could only accountfor it on the supposition that he had parliamentary ambitions.

My attention was drawn away from my driver's panegyric by theappearance of a very beautiful bird which settled on a telegraph-postbeside the road. At first I thought that it was a jay, but itwas larger, with a brighter plumage. The driver accounted for itspresence at once by saying that it belonged to the very man whom wewere about to visit. It seems that the acclimatization of foreigncreatures was one of his hobbies, and that he had brought with himfrom Brazil a number of birds and beasts which he was endeavouringto rear in England. When once we had passed the gates of GreylandsPark we had ample evidence of this taste of his. Some smallspotted deer, a curious wild pig known, I believe, as a peccary, agorgeously feathered oriole, some sort of armadillo, and a singularlumbering in-toed beast like a very fat badger, were among thecreatures which I observed as we drove along the winding avenue.

Mr. Everard King, my unknown cousin, was standing in personupon the steps of his house, for he had seen us in the distance,and guessed that it was I. His appearance was very homely andbenevolent, short and stout, forty-five years old, perhaps, with around, good-humoured face, burned brown with the tropical sun, andshot with a thousand wrinkles. He wore white linen clothes, intrue planter style, with a cigar between his lips, and a largePanama hat upon the back of his head. It was such a figure as oneassociates with a verandahed bungalow, and it looked curiously outof place in front of this broad, stone English mansion, with itssolid wings and its Palladio pillars before the doorway.

"My dear!" he cried, glancing over his shoulder; "my dear, hereis our guest! Welcome, welcome to Greylands! I am delighted tomake your acquaintance, Cousin Marshall, and I take it as a greatcompliment that you should honour this sleepy little country placewith your presence."

Nothing could be more hearty than his manner, and he set me atmy ease in an instant. But it needed all his cordiality to atonefor the frigidity and even rudeness of his wife, a tall, haggardwoman, who came forward at his summons. She was, I believe, ofBrazilian extraction, though she spoke excellent English, and Iexcused her manners on the score of her ignorance of our customs.She did not attempt to conceal, however, either then or afterwards,that I was no very welcome visitor at Greylands Court. Her actualwords were, as a rule, courteous, but she was the possessor of apair of particularly expressive dark eyes, and I read in them veryclearly from the first that she heartily wished me back in Londononce more.

However, my debts were too pressing and my designs upon my wealthyrelative were too vital for me to allow them to be upset by theill-temper of his wife, so I disregarded her coldness and reciprocatedthe extreme cordiality of his welcome. No pains had been spared by himto make me comfortable. My room was a charming one. He implored me totell him anything which could add to my happiness. It was on the tip ofmy tongue to inform him that a blank cheque would materially helptowards that end, but I felt that it might be premature in the presentstate of our acquaintance. The dinner was excellent, and as we sattogether afterwards over his Havanas and coffee, which later he told mewas specially prepared upon his own plantation, it seemed to me that allmy driver's eulogies were justified, and that I had never met a morelarge-hearted and hospitable man.

But, in spite of his cheery good nature, he was a man with astrong will and a fiery temper of his own. Of this I had anexample upon the following morning. The curious aversion whichMrs. Everard King had conceived towards me was so strong, that hermanner at breakfast was almost offensive. But her meaning becameunmistakable when her husband had quitted the room.

"The best train in the day is at twelve-fifteen," said she.

"But I was not thinking of going today," I answered, frankly--perhapseven defiantly, for I was determined not to be driven out by this woman.

"Oh, if it rests with you--" said she, and stopped with a mostinsolent expression in her eyes.

"What's this? What's this?" said a voice, and there he was inthe room. He had overheard my last words, and a glance at ourfaces had told him the rest. In an instant his chubby, cheery faceset into an expression of absolute ferocity.

"Might I trouble you to walk outside, Marshall?" said he. (Imay mention that my own name is Marshall King.)

He closed the door behind me, and then, for an instant, I heardhim talking in a low voice of concentrated passion to his wife.This gross breach of hospitality had evidently hit upon histenderest point. I am no eavesdropper, so I walked out on to thelawn. Presently I heard a hurried step behind me, and there wasthe lady, her face pale with excitement, and her eyes red withtears.

"My husband has asked me to apologize to you, Mr. MarshallKing," said she, standing with downcast eyes before me.

"Please do not say another word, Mrs. King."

Her dark eyes suddenly blazed out at me.

"You fool!" she hissed, with frantic vehemence, and turning onher heel swept back to the house.

The insult was so outrageous, so insufferable, that I couldonly stand staring after her in bewilderment. I was still therewhen my host joined me. He was his cheery, chubby self once more.

"I hope that my wife has apologized for her foolish remarks,"said he.

"Oh, yes--yes, certainly!"

He put his hand through my arm and walked with me up and downthe lawn.

"You must not take it seriously," said he. "It would grieve meinexpressibly if you curtailed your visit by one hour. The factis--there is no reason why there should be any concealment betweenrelatives--that my poor dear wife is incredibly jealous. She hatesthat anyone--male or female--should for an instant come between us.Her ideal is a desert island and an eternal tete-a-tete. Thatgives you the clue to her actions, which are, I confess, upon thisparticular point, not very far removed from mania. Tell me thatyou will think no more of it."

"No, no; certainly not."

"Then light this cigar and come round with me and see my littlemenagerie."

The whole afternoon was occupied by this inspection, whichincluded all the birds, beasts, and even reptiles which he hadimported. Some were free, some in cages, a few actually in thehouse. He spoke with enthusiasm of his successes and his failures,his births and his deaths, and he would cry out in his delight,like a schoolboy, when, as we walked, some gaudy bird would flutterup from the grass, or some curious beast slink into the cover.Finally he led me down a corridor which extended from one wing ofthe house. At the end of this there was a heavy door with asliding shutter in it, and beside it there projected from the wallan iron handle attached to a wheel and a drum. A line of stoutbars extended across the passage.

"I am about to show you the jewel of my collection," said he."There is only one other specimen in Europe, now that the Rotterdamcub is dead. It is a Brazilian cat."

"But how does that differ from any other cat?"

"You will soon see that," said he, laughing. "Will you kindlydraw that shutter and look through?"

I did so, and found that I was gazing into a large, empty room,with stone flags, and small, barred windows upon the farther wall.In the centre of this room, lying in the middle of a golden patchof sunlight, there was stretched a huge creature, as large as atiger, but as black and sleek as ebony. It was simply a veryenormous and very well-kept black cat, and it cuddled up and baskedin that yellow pool of light exactly as a cat would do. It was sograceful, so sinewy, and so gently and smoothly diabolical, that Icould not take my eyes from the opening.

"Isn't he splendid?" said my host, enthusiastically.

"Glorious! I never saw such a noble creature."

"Some people call it a black puma, but really it is not a pumaat all. That fellow is nearly eleven feet from tail to tip. Fouryears ago he was a little ball of back fluff, with two yellow eyesstaring out of it. He was sold me as a new-born cub up in the wildcountry at the head-waters of the Rio Negro. They speared hismother to death after she had killed a dozen of them."

"They are ferocious, then?"

"The most absolutely treacherous and bloodthirsty creaturesupon earth. You talk about a Brazilian cat to an up-countryIndian, and see him get the jumps. They prefer humans to game.This fellow has never tasted living blood yet, but when he does hewill be a terror. At present he won't stand anyone but me in hisden. Even Baldwin, the groom, dare not go near him. As to me, Iam his mother and father in one."

As he spoke he suddenly, to my astonishment, opened the doorand slipped in, closing it instantly behind him. At the sound ofhis voice the huge, lithe creature rose, yawned and rubbed itsround, black head affectionately against his side, while he pattedand fondled it.

"Now, Tommy, into your cage!" said he.

The monstrous cat walked over to one side of the room andcoiled itself up under a grating. Everard King came out, andtaking the iron handle which I have mentioned, he began to turn it.As he did so the line of bars in the corridor began to pass througha slot in the wall and closed up the front of this grating, so asto make an effective cage. When it was in position he opened thedoor once more and invited me into the room, which was heavy withthe pungent, musty smell peculiar to the great carnivora.

"That's how we work it," said he. "We give him the run of theroom for exercise, and then at night we put him in his cage. Youcan let him out by turning the handle from the passage, or you can,as you have seen, coop him up in the same way. No, no, you shouldnot do that!"

I had put my hand between the bars to pat the glossy, heavingflank. He pulled it back, with a serious face.

"I assure you that he is not safe. Don't imagine that becauseI can take liberties with him anyone else can. He is veryexclusive in his friends--aren't you, Tommy? Ah, he hears hislunch coming to him! Don't you, boy?"

A step sounded in the stone-flagged passage, and the creaturehad sprung to his feet, and was pacing up and down the narrow cage,his yellow eyes gleaming, and his scarlet tongue rippling andquivering over the white line of his jagged teeth. A groom enteredwith a coarse joint upon a tray, and thrust it through the bars tohim. He pounced lightly upon it, carried it off to the corner, andthere, holding it between his paws, tore and wrenched at it,raising his bloody muzzle every now and then to look at us. It wasa malignant and yet fascinating sight.

"You can't wonder that I am fond of him, can you?" said myhost, as we left the room, "especially when you consider that Ihave had the rearing of him. It was no joke bringing him over fromthe centre of South America; but here he is safe and sound--and, asI have said, far the most perfect specimen in Europe. The peopleat the Zoo are dying to have him, but I really can't part with him.Now, I think that I have inflicted my hobby upon you long enough,so we cannot do better than follow Tommy's example, and go to ourlunch."

My South American relative was so engrossed by his grounds andtheir curious occupants, that I hardly gave him credit at first forhaving any interests outside them. That he had some, and pressingones, was soon borne in upon me by the number of telegrams which hereceived. They arrived at all hours, and were always opened by himwith the utmost eagerness and anxiety upon his face. Sometimes Iimagined that it must be the Turf, and sometimes the StockExchange, but certainly he had some very urgent business goingforwards which was not transacted upon the Downs of Suffolk.During the six days of my visit he had never fewer than threeor four telegrams a day, and sometimes as many as seven or eight.

I had occupied these six days so well, that by the end of themI had succeeded in getting upon the most cordial terms with mycousin. Every night we had sat up late in the billiard-room, hetelling me the most extraordinary stories of his adventures inAmerica--stories so desperate and reckless, that I could hardlyassociate them with the brown little, chubby man before me. Inreturn, I ventured upon some of my own reminiscences of Londonlife, which interested him so much, that he vowed he would come upto Grosvenor Mansions and stay with me. He was anxious to see thefaster side of city life, and certainly, though I say it, he couldnot have chosen a more competent guide. It was not until the lastday of my visit that I ventured to approach that which was on mymind. I told him frankly about my pecuniary difficulties and myimpending ruin, and I asked his advice--though I hoped forsomething more solid. He listened attentively, puffing hard at hiscigar.

"But surely," said he, "you are the heir of our relative, LordSoutherton?"

"I have every reason to believe so, but he would never make meany allowance."

"No, no, I have heard of his miserly ways. My poor Marshall,your position has been a very hard one. By the way, have you heardany news of Lord Southerton's health lately?"

"He has always been in a critical condition ever since mychildhood."

"Exactly--a creaking hinge, if ever there was one. Yourinheritance may be a long way off. Dear me, how awkwardly situatedyou are!"

"I had some hopes, sir, that you, knowing all the facts, mightbe inclined to advance----"

"Don't say another word, my dear boy," he cried, with theutmost cordiality; "we shall talk it over tonight, and I give youmy word that whatever is in my power shall be done."

I was not sorry that my visit was drawing to a close, for it isunpleasant to feel that there is one person in the house whoeagerly desires your departure. Mrs. King's sallow face andforbidding eyes had become more and more hateful to me. She wasno longer actively rude--her fear of her husband preventedher--but she pushed her insane jealousy to the extent of ignoringme, never addressing me, and in every way making my stay atGreylands as uncomfortable as she could. So offensive was hermanner during that last day, that I should certainly have left hadit not been for that interview with my host in the evening whichwould, I hoped, retrieve my broken fortunes.

It was very late when it occurred, for my relative, who hadbeen receiving even more telegrams than usual during the day, wentoff to his study after dinner, and only emerged when the householdhad retired to bed. I heard him go round locking the doors, ascustom was of a night, and finally he joined me in the billiard-room.His stout figure was wrapped in a dressing-gown, and he worea pair of red Turkish slippers without any heels. Settling downinto an arm-chair, he brewed himself a glass of grog, in which Icould not help noticing that the whisky considerably predominatedover the water.

"My word!" said he, "what a night!"

It was, indeed. The wind was howling and screaming round thehouse, and the latticed windows rattled and shook as if they werecoming in. The glow of the yellow lamps and the flavour of ourcigars seemed the brighter and more fragrant for the contrast.

"Now, my boy," said my host, "we have the house and the nightto ourselves. Let me have an idea of how your affairs stand, andI will see what can be done to set them in order. I wish to hearevery detail."

Thus encouraged, I entered into a long exposition, in which allmy tradesmen and creditors from my landlord to my valet, figured inturn. I had notes in my pocket-book, and I marshalled my facts,and gave, I flatter myself, a very businesslike statement of my ownunbusinesslike ways and lamentable position. I was depressed,however, to notice that my companion's eyes were vacant and hisattention elsewhere. When he did occasionally throw out a remarkit was so entirely perfunctory and pointless, that I was sure hehad not in the least followed my remarks. Every now and then heroused himself and put on some show of interest, asking me torepeat or to explain more fully, but it was always to sink oncemore into the same brown study. At last he rose and threw the endof his cigar into the grate.

"I'll tell you what, my boy," said he. "I never had a head forfigures, so you will excuse me. You must jot it all down uponpaper, and let me have a note of the amount. I'll understand itwhen I see it in black and white."

The proposal was encouraging. I promised to do so.

"And now it's time we were in bed. By Jove, there's oneo'clock striking in the hall."

The tingling of the chiming clock broke through the deep roarof the gale. The wind was sweeping past with the rush of a greatriver.

"I must see my cat before I go to bed," said my host. "A highwind excites him. Will you come?"

"Certainly," said I.

"Then tread softly and don't speak, for everyone is asleep."

We passed quietly down the lamp-lit Persian-rugged hall, andthrough the door at the farther end. All was dark in the stonecorridor, but a stable lantern hung on a hook, and my host took itdown and lit it. There was no grating visible in the passage, soI knew that the beast was in its cage.

"Come in!" said my relative, and opened the door.

A deep growling as we entered showed that the storm had reallyexcited the creature. In the flickering light of the lantern, wesaw it, a huge black mass coiled in the corner of its den andthrowing a squat, uncouth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Itstail switched angrily among the straw.

"Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers," said Everard King,holding up the lantern and looking in at him. "What a black devilhe looks, doesn't he? I must give him a little supper to put himin a better humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for amoment?"

I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door.

"His larder is just outside here," said he. "You will excuseme for an instant won't you?" He passed out, and the door shutwith a sharp metallic click behind him.

That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden waveof terror passed over me. A vague perception of some monstroustreachery turned me cold. I sprang to the door, but there was nohandle upon the inner side.

"Here!" I cried. "Let me out!"

"All right! Don't make a row!" said my host from the passage."You've got the light all right."

"Practical is the word," said he, with another hateful chuckle.And then suddenly I heard, amidst the roar of the storm, the creakand whine of the winch-handle turning and the rattle of the gratingas it passed through the slot. Great God, he was letting loose theBrazilian cat!

In the light of the lantern I saw the bars sliding slowlybefore me. Already there was an opening a foot wide at the fartherend. With a scream I seized the last bar with my hands and pulledwith the strength of a madman. I WAS a madman with rage andhorror. For a minute or more I held the thing motionless. I knewthat he was straining with all his force upon the handle, and thatthe leverage was sure to overcome me. I gave inch by inch, my feetsliding along the stones, and all the time I begged and prayed thisinhuman monster to save me from this horrible death. I conjuredhim by his kinship. I reminded him that I was his guest; I beggedto know what harm I had ever done him. His only answers were thetugs and jerks upon the handle, each of which, in spite of all mystruggles, pulled another bar through the opening. Clinging andclutching, I was dragged across the whole front of the cage, untilat last, with aching wrists and lacerated fingers, I gave up thehopeless struggle. The grating clanged back as I released it, andan instant later I heard the shuffle of the Turkish slippers in thepassage, and the slam of the distant door. Then everything wassilent.

The creature had never moved during this time. He lay still inthe corner, and his tail had ceased switching. This apparition ofa man adhering to his bars and dragged screaming across him hadapparently filled him with amazement. I saw his great eyes staringsteadily at me. I had dropped the lantern when I seized thebars, but it still burned upon the floor, and I made a movementto grasp it, with some idea that its light might protect me. Butthe instant I moved, the beast gave a deep and menacing growl. Istopped and stood still, quivering with fear in every limb. Thecat (if one may call so fearful a creature by so homely a name) wasnot more than ten feet from me. The eyes glimmered like two disksof phosphorus in the darkness. They appalled and yet fascinatedme. I could not take my own eyes from them. Nature plays strangetricks with us at such moments of intensity, and those glimmeringlights waxed and waned with a steady rise and fall. Sometimes theyseemed to be tiny points of extreme brilliancy--little electricsparks in the black obscurity--then they would widen and widenuntil all that corner of the room was filled with their shiftingand sinister light. And then suddenly they went out altogether.

The beast had closed its eyes. I do not know whether there maybe any truth in the old idea of the dominance of the human gaze, orwhether the huge cat was simply drowsy, but the fact remains that,far from showing any symptom of attacking me, it simply rested itssleek, black head upon its huge forepaws and seemed to sleep. Istood, fearing to move lest I should rouse it into malignant lifeonce more. But at least I was able to think clearly now that thebaleful eyes were off me. Here I was shut up for the night withthe ferocious beast. My own instincts, to say nothing of the wordsof the plausible villain who laid this trap for me, warned me thatthe animal was as savage as its master. How could I stave it offuntil morning? The door was hopeless, and so were the narrow,barred windows. There was no shelter anywhere in the bare, stone-flaggedroom. To cry for assistance was absurd. I knew that thisden was an outhouse, and that the corridor which connected it withthe house was at least a hundred feet long. Besides, with the galethundering outside, my cries were not likely to be heard. I hadonly my own courage and my own wits to trust to.

And then, with a fresh wave of horror, my eyes fell upon the lantern.The candle had burned low, and was already beginning to gutter. In tenminutes it would be out. I had only ten minutes then in which to dosomething, for I felt that if I were once left in the dark with thatfearful beast I should be incapable of action. The very thought of itparalysed me. I cast my despairing eyes round this chamber of death, andthey rested upon one spot which seemed to promise I will not say safety,but less immediate and imminent danger than the open floor.

I have said that the cage had a top as well as a front, andthis top was left standing when the front was wound through theslot in the wall. It consisted of bars at a few inches' interval,with stout wire netting between, and it rested upon a strongstanchion at each end. It stood now as a great barred canopy overthe crouching figure in the corner. The space between this ironshelf and the roof may have been from two or three feet. If Icould only get up there, squeezed in between bars and ceiling, Ishould have only one vulnerable side. I should be safe from below,from behind, and from each side. Only on the open face of it couldI be attacked. There, it is true, I had no protection whatever;but at least, I should be out of the brute's path when he began topace about his den. He would have to come out of his way to reachme. It was now or never, for if once the light were out it wouldbe impossible. With a gulp in my throat I sprang up, seized theiron edge of the top, and swung myself panting on to it. I writhedin face downwards, and found myself looking straight into theterrible eyes and yawning jaws of the cat. Its fetid breath cameup into my face like the steam from some foul pot.

It appeared, however, to be rather curious than angry. With asleek ripple of its long, black back it rose, stretched itself, andthen rearing itself on its hind legs, with one forepaw against thewall, it raised the other, and drew its claws across the wiremeshes beneath me. One sharp, white hook tore through mytrousers--for I may mention that I was still in evening dress--anddug a furrow in my knee. It was not meant as an attack, but ratheras an experiment, for upon my giving a sharp cry of pain he droppeddown again, and springing lightly into the room, he began walkingswiftly round it, looking up every now and again in my direction.For my part I shuffled backwards until I lay with my back againstthe wall, screwing myself into the smallest space possible. Thefarther I got the more difficult it was for him to attack me.

He seemed more excited now that he had begun to move about, andhe ran swiftly and noiselessly round and round the den,passing continually underneath the iron couch upon which I lay. Itwas wonderful to see so great a bulk passing like a shadow, withhardly the softest thudding of velvety pads. The candle wasburning low--so low that I could hardly see the creature. Andthen, with a last flare and splutter it went out altogether. I wasalone with the cat in the dark!

It helps one to face a danger when one knows that one has doneall that possibly can be done. There is nothing for it then but toquietly await the result. In this case, there was no chance ofsafety anywhere except the precise spot where I was. I stretchedmyself out, therefore, and lay silently, almost breathlessly,hoping that the beast might forget my presence if I did nothing toremind him. I reckoned that it must already be two o'clock. Atfour it would be full dawn. I had not more than two hours to waitfor daylight.

Outside, the storm was still raging, and the rain lashedcontinually against the little windows. Inside, the poisonous andfetid air was overpowering. I could neither hear nor see the cat.I tried to think about other things--but only one had power enoughto draw my mind from my terrible position. That was thecontemplation of my cousin's villainy, his unparalleled hypocrisy,his malignant hatred of me. Beneath that cheerful face therelurked the spirit of a mediaeval assassin. And as I thought of itI saw more clearly how cunningly the thing had been arranged. Hehad apparently gone to bed with the others. No doubt he had hiswitness to prove it. Then, unknown to them, he had slipped down,had lured me into his den and abandoned me. His story would be sosimple. He had left me to finish my cigar in the billiard-room.I had gone down on my own account to have a last look at the cat.I had entered the room without observing that the cage was opened,and I had been caught. How could such a crime be brought home tohim? Suspicion, perhaps--but proof, never!

How slowly those dreadful two hours went by! Once I heard alow, rasping sound, which I took to be the creature licking its ownfur. Several times those greenish eyes gleamed at me through thedarkness, but never in a fixed stare, and my hopes grew strongerthat my presence had been forgotten or ignored. At last the leastfaint glimmer of light came through the windows--I first dimlysaw them as two grey squares upon the black wall, then grey turnedto white, and I could see my terrible companion once more. And he,alas, could see me!

It was evident to me at once that he was in a much moredangerous and aggressive mood than when I had seen him last. Thecold of the morning had irritated him, and he was hungry as well.With a continual growl he paced swiftly up and down the side of theroom which was farthest from my refuge, his whiskers bristlingangrily, and his tail switching and lashing. As he turned at thecorners his savage eyes always looked upwards at me with a dreadfulmenace. I knew then that he meant to kill me. Yet I found myselfeven at that moment admiring the sinuous grace of the devilishthing, its long, undulating, rippling movements, the gloss of itsbeautiful flanks, the vivid, palpitating scarlet of the glisteningtongue which hung from the jet-black muzzle. And all the time thatdeep, threatening growl was rising and rising in an unbrokencrescendo. I knew that the crisis was at hand.

It was a miserable hour to meet such a death--so cold, socomfortless, shivering in my light dress clothes upon this gridironof torment upon which I was stretched. I tried to brace myselfto it, to raise my soul above it, and at the same time, with thelucidity which comes to a perfectly desperate man, I cast round forsome possible means of escape. One thing was clear to me. If thatfront of the cage was only back in its position once more, I couldfind a sure refuge behind it. Could I possibly pull it back? Ihardly dared to move for fear of bringing the creature upon me.Slowly, very slowly, I put my hand forward until it grasped theedge of the front, the final bar which protruded through the wall.To my surprise it came quite easily to my jerk. Of course thedifficulty of drawing it out arose from the fact that I wasclinging to it. I pulled again, and three inches of it camethrough. It ran apparently on wheels. I pulled again . . . andthen the cat sprang!

It was so quick, so sudden, that I never saw it happen. Isimply heard the savage snarl, and in an instant afterwards theblazing yellow eyes, the flattened black head with its red tongueand flashing teeth, were within reach of me. The impact of thecreature shook the bars upon which I lay, until I thought (as faras I could think of anything at such a moment) that they werecoming down. The cat swayed there for an instant, the headand front paws quite close to me, the hind paws clawing to find agrip upon the edge of the grating. I heard the claws rasping asthey clung to the wire-netting, and the breath of the beast made mesick. But its bound had been miscalculated. It could not retainits position. Slowly, grinning with rage, and scratching madly atthe bars, it swung backwards and dropped heavily upon the floor.With a growl it instantly faced round to me and crouched foranother spring.

I knew that the next few moments would decide my fate. Thecreature had learned by experience. It would not miscalculateagain. I must act promptly, fearlessly, if I were to have a chancefor life. In an instant I had formed my plan. Pulling off mydress-coat, I threw it down over the head of the beast. At thesame moment I dropped over the edge, seized the end of the frontgrating, and pulled it frantically out of the wall.

It came more easily than I could have expected. I rushedacross the room, bearing it with me; but, as I rushed, the accidentof my position put me upon the outer side. Had it been the otherway, I might have come off scathless. As it was, there was amoment's pause as I stopped it and tried to pass in through theopening which I had left. That moment was enough to give time tothe creature to toss off the coat with which I had blinded him andto spring upon me. I hurled myself through the gap and pulled therails to behind me, but he seized my leg before I could entirelywithdraw it. One stroke of that huge paw tore off my calf as ashaving of wood curls off before a plane. The next moment,bleeding and fainting, I was lying among the foul straw with a lineof friendly bars between me and the creature which ramped sofrantically against them.

Too wounded to move, and too faint to be conscious of fear, Icould only lie, more dead than alive, and watch it. It pressed itsbroad, black chest against the bars and angled for me with itscrooked paws as I have seen a kitten do before a mouse-trap. Itripped my clothes, but, stretch as it would, it could not quitereach me. I have heard of the curious numbing effect produced bywounds from the great carnivora, and now I was destined toexperience it, for I had lost all sense of personality, and was asinterested in the cat's failure or success as if it were somegame which I was watching. And then gradually my mind drifted awayinto strange vague dreams, always with that black face and redtongue coming back into them, and so I lost myself in the nirvanaof delirium, the blessed relief of those who are too sorely tried.

Tracing the course of events afterwards, I conclude that I musthave been insensible for about two hours. What roused me toconsciousness once more was that sharp metallic click which hadbeen the precursor of my terrible experience. It was the shootingback of the spring lock. Then, before my senses were clear enoughto entirely apprehend what they saw, I was aware of the round,benevolent face of my cousin peering in through the open door.What he saw evidently amazed him. There was the cat crouching onthe floor. I was stretched upon my back in my shirt-sleeves withinthe cage, my trousers torn to ribbons and a great pool of blood allround me. I can see his amazed face now, with the morning sunlightupon it. He peered at me, and peered again. Then he closed thedoor behind him, and advanced to the cage to see if I were reallydead.

I cannot undertake to say what happened. I was not in a fitstate to witness or to chronicle such events. I can only say thatI was suddenly conscious that his face was away from me--that hewas looking towards the animal.

And then I heard him fall, and rise, and fall again, with a sound likethe ripping of sacking. His screams grew fainter until they were lost inthe worrying snarl. And then, after I thought that he was dead, I saw,as in a nightmare, a blinded, tattered, blood-soaked figure runningwildly round the room--and that was the last glimpse which I had of himbefore I fainted once again.

I was many months in my recovery--in fact, I cannot say that Ihave ever recovered, for to the end of my days I shall carry astick as a sign of my night with the Brazilian cat. Baldwin, thegroom, and the other servants could not tell what had occurred,when, drawn by the death-cries of their master, they found mebehind the bars, and his remains--or what they afterwardsdiscovered to be his remains--in the clutch of the creature whichhe had reared. They stalled him off with hot irons, and afterwardsshot him through the loophole of the door before they could finallyextricate me. I was carried to my bedroom, and there, under theroof of my would-be murderer, I remained between life and death forseveral weeks. They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and anurse from London, and in a month I was able to be carried to thestation, and so conveyed back once more to Grosvenor Mansions.

I have one remembrance of that illness, which might have beenpart of the ever-changing panorama conjured up by a delirious brainwere it not so definitely fixed in my memory. One night, when thenurse was absent, the door of my chamber opened, and a tall womanin blackest mourning slipped into the room. She came across to me,and as she bent her sallow face I saw by the faint gleam of thenight-light that it was the Brazilian woman whom my cousin hadmarried. She stared intently into my face, and her expression wasmore kindly than I had ever seen it.

"Are you conscious?" she asked.

I feebly nodded--for I was still very weak.

"Well; then, I only wished to say to you that you have yourself toblame. Did I not do all I could for you? From the beginning I tried todrive you from the house. By every means, short of betraying my husband,I tried to save you from him. I knew that he had a reason for bringingyou here. I knew that he would never let you get away again. No one knewhim as I knew him, who had suffered from him so often. I did not dare totell you all this. He would have killed me. But I did my best for you.As things have turned out, you have been the best friend that I haveever had. You have set me free, and I fancied that nothing but deathwould do that. I am sorry if you are hurt, but I cannot reproach myself.I told you that you were a fool--and a fool you have been." She creptout of the room, the bitter, singular woman, and I was never destined tosee her again. With what remained from her husband's property she wentback to her native land, and I have heard that she afterwards took theveil at Pernambuco.

It was not until I had been back in London for some time thatthe doctors pronounced me to be well enough to do business. It wasnot a very welcome permission to me, for I feared that it would bethe signal for an inrush of creditors; but it was Summers, mylawyer, who first took advantage of it.

"I am very glad to see that your lordship is so much better," saidhe. "I have been waiting a long time to offer my congratulations."

"What do you mean, Summers? This is no time for joking."

"I mean what I say," he answered. "You have been LordSoutherton for the last six weeks, but we feared that it wouldretard your recovery if you were to learn it."

Lord Southerton! One of the richest peers in England! I couldnot believe my ears. And then suddenly I thought of the time whichhad elapsed, and how it coincided with my injuries.

"Then Lord Southerton must have died about the same time thatI was hurt?"

"His death occurred upon that very day." Summers looked hardat me as I spoke, and I am convinced--for he was a very shrewdfellow--that he had guessed the true state of the case. He pausedfor a moment as if awaiting a confidence from me, but I could notsee what was to be gained by exposing such a family scandal.

"Yes, a very curious coincidence," he continued, with the sameknowing look. "Of course, you are aware that your cousin EverardKing was the next heir to the estates. Now, if it had been youinstead of him who had been torn to pieces by this tiger, orwhatever it was, then of course he would have been Lord Southertonat the present moment."

"No doubt," said I.

"And he took such an interest in it," said Summers. "I happento know that the late Lord Southerton's valet was in his pay, andthat he used to have telegrams from him every few hours to tell himhow he was getting on. That would be about the time when you weredown there. Was it not strange that he should wish to be so wellinformed, since he knew that he was not the direct heir?"

"Very strange," said I. "And now, Summers, if you will bringme my bills and a new cheque-book, we will begin to get things intoorder."

Tales of Mystery

The Lost Special

The confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying under sentence ofdeath at Marseilles, has thrown a light upon one of the mostinexplicable crimes of the century--an incident which is, Ibelieve, absolutely unprecedented in the criminal annals of anycountry: Although there is a reluctance to discuss the matter inofficial circles, and little information has been given to thePress, there are still indications that the statement of thisarch-criminal is corroborated by the facts, and that we have atlast found a solution for a most astounding business. As thematter is eight years old, and as its importance was somewhatobscured by a political crisis which was engaging the publicattention at the time, it may be as well to state the facts asfar as we have been able to ascertain them. They are collatedfrom the Liverpool papers of that date, from the proceedings atthe inquest upon John Slater, the engine-driver, and from therecords of the London and West Coast Railway Company, whichhave been courteously put at my disposal. Briefly, they are asfollows:

On the 3rd of June, 1890, a gentleman, who gave his name asMonsieur Louis Caratal, desired an interview with Mr. James Bland,the superintendent of the London and West Coast Central Station inLiverpool. He was a small man, middle-aged and dark, with a stoopwhich was so marked that it suggested some deformity of the spine.He was accompanied by a friend, a man of imposing physique, whosedeferential manner and constant attention showed that his positionwas one of dependence. This friend or companion, whose name didnot transpire, was certainly a foreigner, and probably from hisswarthy complexion, either a Spaniard or a South American. Onepeculiarity was observed in him. He carried in his left hand asmall black, leather dispatch box, and it was noticed by a sharp-eyedclerk in the Central office that this box was fastened tohis wrist by a strap. No importance was attached to the fact atthe time, but subsequent events endowed it with some significance.Monsieur Caratal was shown up to Mr. Bland's office, while hiscompanion remained outside.

Monsieur Caratal's business was quickly dispatched. He had arrived thatafternoon from Central America. Affairs of the utmost importancedemanded that he should be in Paris without the loss of an unnecessaryhour. He had missed the London express. A special must be provided.Money was of no importance. Time was everything. If the company wouldspeed him on his way, they might make their own terms.

Mr. Bland struck the electric bell, summoned Mr. Potter Hood,the traffic manager, and had the matter arranged in five minutes.The train would start in three-quarters of an hour. It would takethat time to insure that the line should be clear. The powerfulengine called Rochdale (No. 247 on the company's register) wasattached to two carriages, with a guard's van behind. The firstcarriage was solely for the purpose of decreasing the inconveniencearising from the oscillation. The second was divided, as usual,into four compartments, a first-class, a first-class smoking, asecond-class, and a second-class smoking. The first compartment,which was nearest to the engine, was the one allotted to thetravellers. The other three were empty. The guard of the specialtrain was James McPherson, who had been some years in the serviceof the company. The stoker, William Smith, was a new hand.

Monsieur Caratal, upon leaving the superintendent's office,rejoined his companion, and both of them manifested extremeimpatience to be off. Having paid the money asked, which amountedto fifty pounds five shillings, at the usual special rate of fiveshillings a mile, they demanded to be shown the carriage, and atonce took their seats in it, although they were assured that thebetter part of an hour must elapse before the line could becleared. In the meantime a singular coincidence had occurred inthe office which Monsieur Caratal had just quitted.

A request for a special is not a very uncommon circumstance ina rich commercial centre, but that two should be required upon thesame afternoon was most unusual. It so happened, however,that Mr. Bland had hardly dismissed the first traveller before asecond entered with a similar request. This was a Mr. HoraceMoore, a gentlemanly man of military appearance, who alleged thatthe sudden serious illness of his wife in London made it absolutelyimperative that he should not lose an instant in starting upon thejourney. His distress and anxiety were so evident that Mr. Blanddid all that was possible to meet his wishes. A second special wasout of the question, as the ordinary local service was alreadysomewhat deranged by the first. There was the alternative,however, that Mr. Moore should share the expense of MonsieurCaratal's train, and should travel in the other empty first-classcompartment, if Monsieur Caratal objected to having him in the onewhich he occupied. It was difficult to see any objection to suchan arrangement, and yet Monsieur Caratal, upon the suggestion beingmade to him by Mr. Potter Hood, absolutely refused to consider itfor an instant. The train was his, he said, and he would insistupon the exclusive use of it. All argument failed to overcome hisungracious objections, and finally the plan had to be abandoned.Mr. Horace Moore left the station in great distress, after learningthat his only course was to take the ordinary slow train whichleaves Liverpool at six o'clock. At four thirty-one exactly by thestation clock the special train, containing the crippled MonsieurCaratal and his gigantic companion, steamed out of the Liverpoolstation. The line was at that time clear, and there should havebeen no stoppage before Manchester.

The trains of the London and West Coast Railway run over thelines of another company as far as this town, which should havebeen reached by the special rather before six o'clock. At aquarter after six considerable surprise and some consternation werecaused amongst the officials at Liverpool by the receipt of atelegram from Manchester to say that it had not yet arrived. Aninquiry directed to St. Helens, which is a third of the way betweenthe two cities, elicited the following reply--

This telegram was received at six-forty. At six-fifty a secondmessage was received from Manchester--

"No sign of special as advised by you."

And then ten minutes later a third, more bewildering--

"Presume some mistake as to proposed running of special. Localtrain from St. Helens timed to follow it has just arrived and hasseen nothing of it. Kindly wire advices.--Manchester."

The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, although in somerespects the last telegram was a relief to the authorities atLiverpool. If an accident had occurred to the special, it seemedhardly possible that the local train could have passed down thesame line without observing it. And yet, what was the alternative?Where could the train be? Had it possibly been sidetracked forsome reason in order to allow the slower train to go past? Such anexplanation was possible if some small repair had to be effected.A telegram was dispatched to each of the stations between St.Helens and Manchester, and the superintendent and traffic managerwaited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for the series ofreplies which would enable them to say for certain what had becomeof the missing train. The answers came back in the order ofquestions, which was the order of the stations beginning at the St.Helens end--

"And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory serves me,between the two stations. The special must have run off themetals."

"But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass over the sameline without observing it?"

"There's no alternative, Mr. Hood. It must be so. Possibly the localtrain may have observed something which may throw some light upon thematter. We will wire to Manchester for more information, and to KenyonJunction with instructions that the line be examined instantly as far asBarton Moss." The answer from Manchester came within a few minutes.

"No news of missing special. Driver and guard of slow trainpositive no accident between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.Line quite clear, and no sign of anything unusual.--Manchester."

"That driver and guard will have to go," said Mr. Bland,grimly. "There has been a wreck and they have missed it. Thespecial has obviously run off the metals without disturbing theline--how it could have done so passes my comprehension--but so itmust be, and we shall have a wire from Kenyon or Barton Mosspresently to say that they have found her at the bottom of anembankment."

But Mr. Bland's prophecy was not destined to be fulfilled.Half an hour passed, and then there arrived the following messagefrom the station-master of Kenyon Junction--

"There are no traces of the missing special. It is quitecertain that she passed here, and that she did not arrive at BartonMoss. We have detached engine from goods train, and I have myselfridden down the line, but all is clear, and there is no sign of anyaccident."

Mr. Bland tore his hair in his perplexity.

"This is rank lunacy, Hood!" he cried. "Does a train vanishinto thin air in England in broad daylight? The thing ispreposterous. An engine, a tender, two carriages, a van, fivehuman beings--and all lost on a straight line of railway! Unlesswe get something positive within the next hour I'll take InspectorCollins, and go down myself."

And then at last something positive did occur. It took theshape of another telegram from Kenyon Junction.

"Regret to report that the dead body of John Slater, driver ofthe special train, has just been found among the gorse bushes at apoint two and a quarter miles from the Junction. Had fallen fromhis engine, pitched down the embankment, and rolled among thebushes. Injuries to his head, from the fall, appear to be cause ofdeath. Ground has now been carefully examined, and there is notrace of the missing train."

The country was, as has already been stated, in the throes of apolitical crisis, and the attention of the public was further distractedby the important and sensational developments in Paris, where a hugescandal threatened to destroy the Government and to wreck thereputations of many of the leading men in France. The papers were fullof these events, and the singular disappearance of the special trainattracted less attention than would have been the case in more peacefultimes. The grotesque nature of the event helped to detract from itsimportance, for the papers were disinclined to believe the facts asreported to them. More than one of the London journals treated thematter as an ingenious hoax, until the coroner's inquest upon theunfortunate driver (an inquest which elicited nothing of importance)convinced them of the tragedy of the incident.

Mr. Bland, accompanied by Inspector Collins, the seniordetective officer in the service of the company, went down toKenyon Junction the same evening, and their research lastedthroughout the following day, but was attended with purely negativeresults. Not only was no trace found of the missing train, but noconjecture could be put forward which could possibly explain thefacts. At the same time, Inspector Collins's official report(which lies before me as I write) served to show that thepossibilities were more numerous than might have been expected.

"In the stretch of railway between these two points," said he,"the country is dotted with ironworks and collieries. Of these,some are being worked and some have been abandoned. There are nofewer than twelve which have small-gauge lines which run trolly-carsdown to the main line. These can, of course, be disregarded.Besides these, however, there are seven which have, or have had,proper lines running down and connecting with points to the mainline, so as to convey their produce from the mouth of the mine tothe great centres of distribution. In every case these lines areonly a few miles in length. Out of the seven, four belong tocollieries which are worked out, or at least to shafts which are nolonger used. These are the Redgauntlet, Hero, Slough of Despond,and Heartsease mines, the latter having ten years ago been one ofthe principal mines in Lancashire. These four side lines may beeliminated from our inquiry, for, to prevent possible accidents,the rails nearest to the main line have been taken up, andthere is no longer any connection. There remain three other sidelines leading--

(a) To the Carnstock Iron Works;(b) To the Big Ben Colliery;(c) To the Perseverance Colliery.

"Of these the Big Ben line is not more than a quarter of a milelong, and ends at a dead wall of coal waiting removal from themouth of the mine. Nothing had been seen or heard there of anyspecial. The Carnstock Iron Works line was blocked all day uponthe 3rd of June by sixteen truckloads of hematite. It is a singleline, and nothing could have passed. As to the Perseverance line,it is a large double line, which does a considerable traffic, forthe output of the mine is very large. On the 3rd of June thistraffic proceeded as usual; hundreds of men including a gang ofrailway platelayers were working along the two miles and a quarterwhich constitute the total length of the line, and it isinconceivable that an unexpected train could have come down therewithout attracting universal attention. It may be remarked inconclusion that this branch line is nearer to St. Helens than thepoint at which the engine-driver was discovered, so that we haveevery reason to believe that the train was past that point beforemisfortune overtook her.

"As to John Slater, there is no clue to be gathered from hisappearance or injuries. We can only say that, so far as we cansee, he met his end by falling off his engine, though why he fell,or what became of the engine after his fall, is a question uponwhich I do not feel qualified to offer an opinion." In conclusion,the inspector offered his resignation to the Board, being muchnettled by an accusation of incompetence in the London papers.

A month elapsed, during which both the police and the companyprosecuted their inquiries without the slightest success. A rewardwas offered and a pardon promised in case of crime, but they wereboth unclaimed. Every day the public opened their papers with theconviction that so grotesque a mystery would at last be solved, butweek after week passed by, and a solution remained as far off asever. In broad daylight, upon a June afternoon in the most thicklyinhabited portion of England, a train with its occupants haddisappeared as completely as if some master of subtle chemistry hadvolatilized it into gas. Indeed, among the various conjectureswhich were put forward in the public Press, there were some whichseriously asserted that supernatural, or, at least, preternatural,agencies had been at work, and that the deformed Monsieur Caratalwas probably a person who was better known under a less politename. Others fixed upon his swarthy companion as being the authorof the mischief, but what it was exactly which he had done couldnever be clearly formulated in words.

Amongst the many suggestions put forward by various newspapersor private individuals, there were one or two which were feasibleenough to attract the attention of the public. One which appearedin The Times, over the signature of an amateur reasoner of somecelebrity at that date, attempted to deal with the matter in acritical and semi-scientific manner. An extract must suffice,although the curious can see the whole letter in the issue of the3rd of July.

"It is one of the elementary principles of practicalreasoning," he remarked, "that when the impossible has beeneliminated the residuum, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must contain thetruth. It is certain that the train left Kenyon Junction. It iscertain that it did not reach Barton Moss. It is in the highestdegree unlikely, but still possible, that it may have taken one ofthe seven available side lines. It is obviously impossible for atrain to run where there are no rails, and, therefore, we mayreduce our improbables to the three open lines, namely theCarnstock Iron Works, the Big Ben, and the Perseverance. Is therea secret society of colliers, an English Camorra, which iscapable of destroying both train and passengers? It is improbable,but it is not impossible. I confess that I am unable to suggestany other solution. I should certainly advise the company todirect all their energies towards the observation of those threelines, and of the workmen at the end of them. A carefulsupervision of the pawnbrokers' shops of the district mightpossibly bring some suggestive facts to light."

The suggestion coming from a recognized authority upon suchmatters created considerable interest, and a fierce opposition fromthose who considered such a statement to be a preposterouslibel upon an honest and deserving set of men. The onlyanswer to this criticism was a challenge to the objectors to layany more feasible explanations before the public. In reply to thistwo others were forthcoming (Times, July 7th and 9th). Thefirst suggested that the train might have run off the metals and belying submerged in the Lancashire and Staffordshire Canal, whichruns parallel to the railway for some hundred of yards. Thissuggestion was thrown out of court by the published depth of thecanal, which was entirely insufficient to conceal so large anobject. The second correspondent wrote calling attention to thebag which appeared to be the sole luggage which the travellers hadbrought with them, and suggesting that some novel explosive ofimmense and pulverizing power might have been concealed in it. Theobvious absurdity, however, of supposing that the whole train mightbe blown to dust while the metals remained uninjured reduced anysuch explanation to a farce. The investigation had drifted intothis hopeless position when a new and most unexpected incidentoccurred.

This was nothing less than the receipt by Mrs. McPherson of aletter from her husband, James McPherson, who had been the guard onthe missing train. The letter, which was dated July 5th, 1890, wasposted from New York and came to hand upon July 14th. Some doubtswere expressed as to its genuine character but Mrs. McPherson waspositive as to the writing, and the fact that it contained aremittance of a hundred dollars in five-dollar notes was enough initself to discount the idea of a hoax. No address was given in theletter, which ran in this way:

MY DEAR WIFE,--

"I have been thinking a great deal, and I find it very hard togive you up. The same with Lizzie. I try to fight against it, butit will always come back to me. I send you some money which willchange into twenty English pounds. This should be enough to bringboth Lizzie and you across the Atlantic, and you will find theHamburg boats which stop at Southampton very good boats, andcheaper than Liverpool. If you could come here and stop at theJohnston House I would try and send you word how to meet, butthings are very difficult with me at present, and I am notvery happy, finding it hard to give you both up. So no more atpresent, from your loving husband,

"James McPherson."

For a time it was confidently anticipated that this letterwould lead to the clearing up of the whole matter, the more so asit was ascertained that a passenger who bore a close resemblance tothe missing guard had travelled from Southampton under the name ofSummers in the Hamburg and New York liner Vistula, whichstarted upon the 7th of June. Mrs. McPherson and her sister LizzieDolton went across to New York as directed and stayed for threeweeks at the Johnston House, without hearing anything from themissing man. It is probable that some injudicious comments in thePress may have warned him that the police were using them as abait. However, this may be, it is certain that he neither wrotenor came, and the women were eventually compelled to return toLiverpool.

And so the matter stood, and has continued to stand up to thepresent year of 1898. Incredible as it may seem, nothing hastranspired during these eight years which has shed the least lightupon the extraordinary disappearance of the special train whichcontained Monsieur Caratal and his companion. Careful inquiriesinto the antecedents of the two travellers have only establishedthe fact that Monsieur Caratal was well known as a financier andpolitical agent in Central America, and that during his voyage toEurope he had betrayed extraordinary anxiety to reach Paris. Hiscompanion, whose name was entered upon the passenger lists asEduardo Gomez, was a man whose record was a violent one, and whosereputation was that of a bravo and a bully. There was evidence toshow, however, that he was honestly devoted to the interests ofMonsieur Caratal, and that the latter, being a man of punyphysique, employed the other as a guard and protector. It may beadded that no information came from Paris as to what the objects ofMonsieur Caratal's hurried journey may have been. This comprisesall the facts of the case up to the publication in the Marseillespapers of the recent confession of Herbert de Lernac, now undersentence of death for the murder of a merchant named Bonvalot.This statement may be literally translated as follows:

"It is not out of mere pride or boasting that I give thisinformation, for, if that were my object, I could tell a dozenactions of mine which are quite as splendid; but I do it in orderthat certain gentlemen in Paris may understand that I, who am ablehere to tell about the fate of Monsieur Caratal, can also tell inwhose interest and at whose request the deed was done, unless thereprieve which I am awaiting comes to me very quickly. Takewarning, messieurs, before it is too late! You know Herbert deLernac, and you are aware that his deeds are as ready as his words.Hasten then, or you are lost!

"At present I shall mention no names--if you only heard thenames, what would you not think!--but I shall merely tell you howcleverly I did it. I was true to my employers then, and no doubtthey will be true to me now. I hope so, and until I am convincedthat they have betrayed me, these names, which would convulseEurope, shall not be divulged. But on that day . . . well, I sayno more!

"In a word, then, there was a famous trial in Paris, in theyear 1890, in connection with a monstrous scandal in politics andfinance. How monstrous that scandal was can never be known save bysuch confidential agents as myself. The honour and careers of manyof the chief men in France were at stake. You have seen a group ofninepins standing, all so rigid, and prim, and unbending. Thenthere comes the ball from far away and pop, pop, pop--there areyour ninepins on the floor. Well, imagine some of the greatest menin France as these ninepins and then this Monsieur Caratal was theball which could be seen coming from far away. If he arrived, thenit was pop, pop, pop for all of them. It was determined that heshould not arrive.

"I do not accuse them all of being conscious of what was tohappen. There were, as I have said, great financial as well aspolitical interests at stake, and a syndicate was formed to managethe business. Some subscribed to the syndicate who hardlyunderstood what were its objects. But others understood very well,and they can rely upon it that I have not forgotten their names.They had ample warning that Monsieur Caratal was coming long beforehe left South America, and they knew that the evidence which heheld would certainly mean ruin to all of them. The syndicate hadthe command of an unlimited amount of money--absolutelyunlimited, you understand. They looked round for an agent who wascapable of wielding this gigantic power. The man chosen must beinventive, resolute, adaptive--a man in a million. They choseHerbert de Lernac, and I admit that they were right.

"My duties were to choose my subordinates, to use freely thepower which money gives, and to make certain that Monsieur Caratalshould never arrive in Paris. With characteristic energy I setabout my commission within an hour of receiving my instructions,and the steps which I took were the very best for the purpose whichcould possibly be devised.

"A man whom I could trust was dispatched instantly to SouthAmerica to travel home with Monsieur Caratal. Had he arrived intime the ship would never have reached Liverpool; but alas! it hadalready started before my agent could reach it. I fitted out asmall armed brig to intercept it, but again I was unfortunate.Like all great organizers I was, however, prepared for failure, andhad a series of alternatives prepared, one or the other of whichmust succeed. You must not underrate the difficulties of myundertaking, or imagine that a mere commonplace assassination wouldmeet the case. We must destroy not only Monsieur Caratal, butMonsieur Caratal's documents, and Monsieur Caratal's companionsalso, if we had reason to believe that he had communicated hissecrets to them. And you must remember that they were on thealert, and keenly suspicious of any such attempt. It was a taskwhich was in every way worthy of me, for I am always most masterfulwhere another would be appalled.

"I was all ready for Monsieur Caratal's reception in Liverpool,and I was the more eager because I had reason to believe that hehad made arrangements by which he would have a considerable guardfrom the moment that he arrived in London. Anything which was tobe done must be done between the moment of his setting foot uponthe Liverpool quay and that of his arrival at the London and WestCoast terminus in London. We prepared six plans, each moreelaborate than the last; which plan would be used would depend uponhis own movements. Do what he would, we were ready for him. If hehad stayed in Liverpool, we were ready. If he took an ordinarytrain, an express, or a special, all was ready. Everything hadbeen foreseen and provided for.

"You may imagine that I could not do all this myself. Whatcould I know of the English railway lines? But money canprocure willing agents all the world over, and I soon had one ofthe acutest brains in England to assist me. I will mention nonames, but it would be unjust to claim all the credit for myself.My English ally was worthy of such an alliance. He knew the Londonand West Coast line thoroughly, and he had the command of a band ofworkers who were trustworthy and intelligent. The idea was his,and my own judgement was only required in the details. We boughtover several officials, amongst whom the most important was JamesMcPherson, whom we had ascertained to be the guard most likely tobe employed upon a special train. Smith, the stoker, was also inour employ. John Slater, the engine-driver, had been approached,but had been found to be obstinate and dangerous, so we desisted.We had no certainty that Monsieur Caratal would take a special, butwe thought it very probable, for it was of the utmost importance tohim that he should reach Paris without delay. It was for thiscontingency, therefore, that we made special preparations--preparationswhich were complete down to the last detail long before his steamerhad sighted the shores of England. You will be amused to learn thatthere was one of my agents in the pilot-boat which brought that steamerto its moorings.

"The moment that Caratal arrived in Liverpool we knew that hesuspected danger and was on his guard. He had brought with him asan escort a dangerous fellow, named Gomez, a man who carriedweapons, and was prepared to use them. This fellow carriedCaratal's confidential papers for him, and was ready to protecteither them or his master. The probability was that Caratal hadtaken him into his counsel, and that to remove Caratal withoutremoving Gomez would be a mere waste of energy. It was necessarythat they should be involved in a common fate, and our plans tothat end were much facilitated by their request for a specialtrain. On that special train you will understand that two out ofthe three servants of the company were really in our employ, at aprice which would make them independent for a lifetime. I do notgo so far as to say that the English are more honest than any othernation, but I have found them more expensive to buy.

"I have already spoken of my English agent--who is a manwith a considerable future before him, unless some complaintof the throat carries him off before his time. He had charge ofall arrangements at Liverpool, whilst I was stationed at the inn atKenyon, where I awaited a cipher signal to act. When the specialwas arranged for, my agent instantly telegraphed to me and warnedme how soon I should have everything ready. He himself under thename of Horace Moore applied immediately for a special also, in thehope that he would be sent down with Monsieur Caratal, which mightunder certain circumstances have been helpful to us. If, forexample, our great coup had failed, it would then have become theduty of my agent to have shot them both and destroyed their papers.Caratal was on his guard, however, and refused to admit any othertraveller. My agent then left the station, returned by anotherentrance, entered the guard's van on the side farthest from theplatform, and travelled down with McPherson the guard.

"In the meantime you will be interested to know what mymovements were. Everything had been prepared for days before, andonly the finishing touches were needed. The side line which we hadchosen had once joined the main line, but it had been disconnected.We had only to replace a few rails to connect it once more. Theserails had been laid down as far as could be done without danger ofattracting attention, and now it was merely a case of completing ajuncture with the line, and arranging the points as they had beenbefore. The sleepers had never been removed, and the rails, fish-platesand rivets were all ready, for we had taken them from asiding on the abandoned portion of the line. With my small butcompetent band of workers, we had everything ready long before thespecial arrived. When it did arrive, it ran off upon the smallside line so easily that the jolting of the points appears to havebeen entirely unnoticed by the two travellers.

"Our plan had been that Smith, the stoker, should chloroformJohn Slater, the driver, so that he should vanish with the others.In this respect, and in this respect only, our plans miscarried--Iexcept the criminal folly of McPherson in writing home to his wife.Our stoker did his business so clumsily that Slater in hisstruggles fell off the engine, and though fortune was with us sofar that he broke his neck in the fall, still he remained as a blotupon that which would otherwise have been one of those completemasterpieces which are only to be contemplated in silentadmiration. The criminal expert will find in John Slater the oneflaw in all our admirable combinations. A man who has had as manytriumphs as I can afford to be frank, and I therefore lay my fingerupon John Slater, and I proclaim him to be a flaw.

"But now I have got our special train upon the small line twokilometres, or rather more than one mile, in length, which leads,or rather used to lead, to the abandoned Heartsease mine, once oneof the largest coal mines in England. You will ask how it is thatno one saw the train upon this unused line. I answer that alongits entire length it runs through a deep cutting, and that, unlesssomeone had been on the edge of that cutting, he could not haveseen it. There WAS someone on the edge of that cutting. I wasthere. And now I will tell you what I saw.

"My assistant had remained at the points in order that he mightsuperintend the switching off of the train. He had four armed menwith him, so that if the train ran off the line--we thought itprobable, because the points were very rusty--we might still haveresources to fall back upon. Having once seen it safely on theside line, he handed over the responsibility to me. I was waitingat a point which overlooks the mouth of the mine, and I was alsoarmed, as were my two companions. Come what might, you see, I wasalways ready.

"The moment that the train was fairly on the side line, Smith,the stoker, slowed-down the engine, and then, having turned it onto the fullest speed again, he and McPherson, with my Englishlieutenant, sprang off before it was too late. It may be that itwas this slowing-down which first attracted the attention of thetravellers, but the train was running at full speed again beforetheir heads appeared at the open window. It makes me smile tothink how bewildered they must have been. Picture to yourself yourown feelings if, on looking out of your luxurious carriage, yousuddenly perceived that the lines upon which you ran were rustedand corroded, red and yellow with disuse and decay! What a catchmust have come in their breath as in a second it flashed upon themthat it was not Manchester but Death which was waiting for them atthe end of that sinister line. But the train was running withfrantic speed, rolling and rocking over the rotten line, whilethe wheels made a frightful screaming sound upon the rustedsurface. I was close to them, and could see their faces. Caratalwas praying, I think--there was something like a rosary danglingout of his hand. The other roared like a bull who smells the bloodof the slaughter-house. He saw us standing on the bank, and hebeckoned to us like a madman. Then he tore at his wrist and threwhis dispatch-box out of the window in our direction. Of course,his meaning was obvious. Here was the evidence, and they wouldpromise to be silent if their lives were spared. It would havebeen very agreeable if we could have done so, but business isbusiness. Besides, the train was now as much beyond our controlsas theirs.

"He ceased howling when the train rattled round the curve andthey saw the black mouth of the mine yawning before them. We hadremoved the boards which had covered it, and we had cleared thesquare entrance. The rails had formerly run very close to theshaft for the convenience of loading the coal, and we had only toadd two or three lengths of rail in order to lead to the very brinkof the shaft. In fact, as the lengths would not quite fit, ourline projected about three feet over the edge. We saw the twoheads at the window: Caratal below, Gomez above; but they had bothbeen struck silent by what they saw. And yet they could notwithdraw their heads. The sight seemed to have paralysed them.

"I had wondered how the train running at a great speed wouldtake the pit into which I had guided it, and I was much interestedin watching it. One of my colleagues thought that it wouldactually jump it, and indeed it was not very far from doing so.Fortunately, however, it fell short, and the buffers of the enginestruck the other lip of the shaft with a tremendous crash. Thefunnel flew off into the air. The tender, carriages, and van wereall smashed up into one jumble, which, with the remains of theengine, choked for a minute or so the mouth of the pit. Thensomething gave way in the middle, and the whole mass of green iron,smoking coals, brass fittings, wheels, wood-work, and cushions allcrumbled together and crashed down into the mine. We heard therattle, rattle, rattle, as the debris struck against the walls, andthen, quite a long time afterwards, there came a deep roar as theremains of the train struck the bottom. The boiler may haveburst, for a sharp crash came after the roar, and then a densecloud of steam and smoke swirled up out of the black depths,falling in a spray as thick as rain all round us. Then the vapourshredded off into thin wisps, which floated away in the summersunshine, and all was quiet again in the Heartsease mine.

"And now, having carried out our plans so successfully, it onlyremained to leave no trace behind us. Our little band of workersat the other end had already ripped up the rails and disconnectedthe side line, replacing everything as it had been before. We wereequally busy at the mine. The funnel and other fragments werethrown in, the shaft was planked over as it used to be, and thelines which led to it were torn up and taken away. Then, withoutflurry, but without delay, we all made our way out of the country,most of us to Paris, my English colleague to Manchester, andMcPherson to Southampton, whence he emigrated to America. Let theEnglish papers of that date tell how throughly we had done ourwork, and how completely we had thrown the cleverest of theirdetectives off our track.

"You will remember that Gomez threw his bag of papers out ofthe window, and I need not say that I secured that bag and broughtthem to my employers. It may interest my employers now, however,to learn that out of that bag I took one or two little papers as asouvenir of the occasion. I have no wish to publish these papers;but, still, it is every man for himself in this world, and whatelse can I do if my friends will not come to my aid when I wantthem? Messieurs, you may believe that Herbert de Lernac is quiteas formidable when he is against you as when he is with you, andthat he is not a man to go to the guillotine until he has seen thatevery one of you is en route for New Caledonia. For your ownsake, if not for mine, make haste, Monsieur de ----, andGeneral ----, and Baron ---- (you can fill up the blanks foryourselves as you read this). I promise you that in the nextedition there will be no blanks to fill.

"P.S.--As I look over my statement there is only one omissionwhich I can see. It concerns the unfortunate man McPherson, whowas foolish enough to write to his wife and to make an appointmentwith her in New York. It can be imagined that when interests likeours were at stake, we could not leave them to the chance ofwhether a man in that class of life would or would not giveaway his secrets to a woman. Having once broken his oath bywriting to his wife, we could not trust him any more. We tooksteps therefore to insure that he should not see his wife. I havesometimes thought that it would be a kindness to write to her andto assure her that there is no impediment to her marrying again."

The Beetle-Hunter

A curious experience? said the Doctor. Yes, my friends, I havehad one very curious experience. I never expect to have another,for it is against all doctrines of chances that two such eventswould befall any one man in a single lifetime. You may believeme or not, but the thing happened exactly as I tell it.

I had just become a medical man, but I had not started inpractice, and I lived in rooms in Gower Street. The street hasbeen renumbered since then, but it was in the only house which hasa bow-window, upon the left-hand side as you go down from theMetropolitan Station. A widow named Murchison kept the house atthat time, and she had three medical students and one engineer aslodgers. I occupied the top room, which was the cheapest, butcheap as it was it was more than I could afford. My smallresources were dwindling away, and every week it became morenecessary that I should find something to do. Yet I was veryunwilling to go into general practice, for my tastes were all inthe direction of science, and especially of zoology, towards whichI had always a strong leaning. I had almost given the fight up andresigned myself to being a medical drudge for life, when theturning-point of my struggles came in a very extraordinary way.

One morning I had picked up the Standard and was glancingover its contents. There was a complete absence of news, and I wasabout to toss the paper down again, when my eyes were caught by anadvertisement at the head of the personal column. It was worded inthis way:

"Wanted for one or more days the services of a medical man. Itis essential that he should be a man of strong physique, of steadynerves, and of a resolute nature. Must be an entomologist--coleopteristpreferred. Apply, in person, at 77B, Brook Street. Application mustbe made before twelve o'clock today."

Now, I have already said that I was devoted to zoology. Of allbranches of zoology, the study of insects was the most attractiveto me, and of all insects beetles were the species with which Iwas most familiar. Butterfly collectors are numerous, butbeetles are far more varied, and more accessible in these islandsthan are butterflies. It was this fact which had attracted myattention to them, and I had myself made a collection whichnumbered some hundred varieties. As to the other requisites of theadvertisement, I knew that my nerves could be depended upon, and Ihad won the weight-throwing competition at the inter-hospitalsports. Clearly, I was the very man for the vacancy. Within fiveminutes of my having read the advertisement I was in a cab and onmy was to Brook Street.

As I drove, I kept turning the matter over in my head andtrying to make a guess as to what sort of employment it could bewhich needed such curious qualifications. A strong physique, aresolute nature, a medical training, and a knowledge of beetles--whatconnection could there be between these various requisites?And then there was the disheartening fact that the situation wasnot a permanent one, but terminable from day to day, according tothe terms of the advertisement. The more I pondered over it themore unintelligible did it become; but at the end of my meditationsI always came back to the ground fact that, come what might, I hadnothing to lose, that I was completely at the end of my resources,and that I was ready for any adventure, however desperate, whichwould put a few honest sovereigns into my pocket. The man fears tofail who has to pay for his failure, but there was no penalty whichFortune could exact from me. I was like the gambler with emptypockets, who is still allowed to try his luck with the others.

No. 77B, Brook Street, was one of those dingy and yet imposinghouses, dun-coloured and flat-faced, with the intensely respectableand solid air which marks the Georgian builder. As I alighted fromthe cab, a young man came out of the door and walked swiftly downthe street. In passing me, I noticed that he cast an inquisitiveand somewhat malevolent glance at me, and I took the incident as agood omen, for his appearance was that of a rejected candidate, andif he resented my application it meant that the vacancy was not yetfilled up. Full of hope, I ascended the broad steps and rappedwith the heavy knocker.

A footman in powder and livery opened the door. Clearly I wasin touch with the people of wealth and fashion.

"Yes, sir?" said the footman.

"I came in answer to----"

"Quite so, sir," said the footman. "Lord Linchmere will seeyou at once in the library."

Lord Linchmere! I had vaguely heard the name, but could notfor the instant recall anything about him. Following the footman,I was shown into a large, book-lined room in which there was seatedbehind a writing-desk a small man with a pleasant, clean-shaven,mobile face, and long hair shot with grey, brushed back from hisforehead. He looked me up and down with a very shrewd, penetratingglance, holding the card which the footman had given him in hisright hand. Then he smiled pleasantly, and I felt that externallyat any rate I possessed the qualifications which he desired.

"You have come in answer to my advertisement, Dr. Hamilton?" heasked.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you fulfil the conditions which are there laid down?"

"I believe that I do."

"You are a powerful man, or so I should judge from yourappearance.

"I think that I am fairly strong."

"And resolute?"

"I believe so."

"Have you ever known what it was to be exposed to imminentdanger?"

"No, I don't know that I ever have."

"But you think you would be prompt and cool at such a time?"

"I hope so."

"Well, I believe that you would. I have the more confidence inyou because you do not pretend to be certain as to what you woulddo in a position that was new to you. My impression is that, sofar as personal qualities go, you are the very man of whom I am insearch. That being settled, we may pass on to the next point."

"Which is?"

"To talk to me about beetles."

I looked across to see if he was joking, but, on the contrary,he was leaning eagerly forward across his desk, and there wasan expression of something like anxiety in his eyes.

"I am afraid that you do not know about beetles," he cried.

"On the contrary, sir, it is the one scientific subject aboutwhich I feel that I really do know something."

"I am overjoyed to hear it. Please talk to me about beetles."

I talked. I do not profess to have said anything original uponthe subject, but I gave a short sketch of the characteristics ofthe beetle, and ran over the more common species, with someallusions to the specimens in my own little collection and to thearticle upon "Burying Beetles" which I had contributed to theJournal of Entomological Science.

"What! not a collector?" cried Lord Linchmere. "You don't meanthat you are yourself a collector?" His eyes danced with pleasureat the thought.

"You are certainly the very man in London for my purpose. Ithought that among five millions of people there must be such aman, but the difficulty is to lay one's hands upon him. I havebeen extraordinarily fortunate in finding you."

He rang a gong upon the table, and the footman entered.

"Ask Lady Rossiter to have the goodness to step this way," saidhis lordship, and a few moments later the lady was ushered into theroom. She was a small, middle-aged woman, very like Lord Linchmerein appearance, with the same quick, alert features and grey-blackhair. The expression of anxiety, however, which I had observedupon his face was very much more marked upon hers. Some greatgrief seemed to have cast its shadow over her features. As LordLinchmere presented me she turned her face full upon me, and I wasshocked to observe a half-healed scar extending for two inches overher right eyebrow. It was partly concealed by plaster, but nonethe less I could see that it had been a serious wound and not longinflicted.

"Dr. Hamilton is the very man for our purpose, Evelyn," saidLord Linchmere. "He is actually a collector of beetles, and he haswritten articles upon the subject."

"Really!" said Lady Rossiter. "Then you must have heard of myhusband. Everyone who knows anything about beetles must have heardof Sir Thomas Rossiter."

For the first time a thin little ray of light began to break into theobscure business. Here, at last, was a connection between these peopleand beetles. Sir Thomas Rossiter--he was the greatest authority upon thesubject in the world. He had made it his lifelong study, and had writtena most exhaustive work upon it. I hastened to assure her that I had readand appreciated it.

"Have you met my husband?" she asked.

"No, I have not."

"But you shall," said Lord Linchmere, with decision.

The lady was standing beside the desk, and she put her handupon his shoulder. It was obvious to me as I saw their facestogether that they were brother and sister.

"Are you really prepared for this, Charles? It is noble ofyou, but you fill me with fears." Her voice quavered withapprehension, and he appeared to me to be equally moved, though hewas making strong efforts to conceal his agitation.

"Yes, yes, dear; it is all settled, it is all decided; in fact,there is no other possible way, that I can see."

"There is one obvious way."

"No, no, Evelyn, I shall never abandon you--never. It willcome right--depend upon it; it will come right, and surely it lookslike the interference of Providence that so perfect an instrumentshould be put into our hands."

My position was embarrassing, for I felt that for the instantthey had forgotten my presence. But Lord Linchmere came backsuddenly to me and to my engagement.

"The business for which I want you, Dr. Hamilton, is that youshould put yourself absolutely at my disposal. I wish you to comefor a short journey with me, to remain always at my side, and topromise to do without question whatever I may ask you, howeverunreasonable it may appear to you to be."

"That is a good deal to ask," said I.

"Unfortunately I cannot put it more plainly, for I do notmyself know what turn matters may take. You may be sure, however,that you will not be asked to do anything which your consciencedoes not approve; and I promise you that, when all is over, youwill be proud to have been concerned in so good a work."

"If it ends happily," said the lady.

"Exactly; if it ends happily," his lordship repeated.

"And terms?" I asked.

"Twenty pounds a day."

I was amazed at the sum, and must have showed my surprise uponmy features.

"It is a rare combination of qualities, as must have struck youwhen you first read the advertisement," said Lord Linchmere; "suchvaried gifts may well command a high return, and I do not concealfrom you that your duties might be arduous or even dangerous.Besides, it is possible that one or two days may bring the matterto an end."

"Please God!" sighed his sister.

"So now, Dr. Hamilton, may I rely upon your aid?"

"Most undoubtedly," said I. "You have only to tell me what myduties are."

"Your first duty will be to return to your home. You will packup whatever you may need for a short visit to the country. Westart together from Paddington Station at 3:40 this afternoon."

"Do we go far?"

"As far as Pangbourne. Meet me at the bookstall at 3:30. Ishall have the tickets. Goodbye, Dr. Hamilton! And, by the way,there are two things which I should be very glad if you would bringwith you, in case you have them. One is your case for collectingbeetles, and the other is a stick, and the thicker and heavier thebetter."

You may imagine that I had plenty to think of from the timethat I left Brook Street until I set out to meet Lord Linchmere atPaddington. The whole fantastic business kept arranging andrearranging itself in kaleidoscopic forms inside my brain, until Ihad thought out a dozen explanations, each of them more grotesquelyimprobable than the last. And yet I felt that the truth must besomething grotesquely improbable also. At last I gave up allattempts at finding a solution, and contented myself with exactlycarrying out the instructions which I had received. With a handvalise, specimen-case, and a loaded cane, I was waiting at thePaddington bookstall when Lord Linchmere arrived. He was an evensmaller man than I had thought--frail and peaky, with a mannerwhich was more nervous than it had been in the morning. He wore along, thick travelling ulster, and I observed that he carried aheavy blackthorn cudgel in his hand.

"I have the tickets," said he, leading the way up the platform.

"This is our train. I have engaged a carriage, for I amparticularly anxious to impress one or two things upon you while wetravel down."

And yet all that he had to impress upon me might have been saidin a sentence, for it was that I was to remember that I was thereas a protection to himself, and that I was not on any considerationto leave him for an instant. This he repeated again and again asour journey drew to a close, with an insistence which showed thathis nerves were thoroughly shaken.

"Yes," he said at last, in answer to my looks rather than to mywords, "I AM nervous, Dr. Hamilton. I have always been a timidman, and my timidity depends upon my frail physical health. But mysoul is firm, and I can bring myself up to face a danger which aless-nervous man might shrink from. What I am doing now is donefrom no compulsion, but entirely from a sense of duty, and yet itis, beyond doubt, a desperate risk. If things should go wrong, Iwill have some claims to the title of martyr."

This eternal reading of riddles was too much for me. I feltthat I must put a term to it.

"I think it would very much better, sir, if you were to trustme entirely," said I. "It is impossible for me to act effectively,when I do not know what are the objects which we have in view, oreven where we are going."

"Oh, as to where we are going, there need be no mystery aboutthat," said he; "we are going to Delamere Court, the residence ofSir Thomas Rossiter, with whose work you are so conversant. As tothe exact object of our visit, I do not know that at this stage ofthe proceedings anything would be gained, Dr. Hamilton, by takingyou into my complete confidence. I may tell you that we areacting--I say 'we,' because my sister, Lady Rossiter, takes thesame view as myself--with the one object of preventing anything inthe nature of a family scandal. That being so, you can understandthat I am loath to give any explanations which are not absolutelynecessary. It would be a different matter, Dr. Hamilton, if I wereasking your advice. As matters stand, it is only your activehelp which I need, and I will indicate to you from time to time howyou can best give it."

There was nothing more to be said, and a poor man can put upwith a good deal for twenty pounds a day, but I felt none the lessthat Lord Linchmere was acting rather scurvily towards me. Hewished to convert me into a passive tool, like the blackthorn inhis hand. With his sensitive disposition I could imagine, however,that scandal would be abhorrent to him, and I realized that hewould not take me into his confidence until no other course wasopen to him. I must trust to my own eyes and ears to solve themystery, but I had every confidence that I should not trust to themin vain.

Delamere Court lies a good five miles from Pangbourne Station,and we drove for that distance in an open fly. Lord Linchmere satin deep thought during the time, and he never opened his mouthuntil we were close to our destination. When he did speak it wasto give me a piece of information which surprised me.

"Perhaps you are not aware," said he, "that I am a medical manlike yourself?"

"No, sir, I did not know it."

"Yes, I qualified in my younger days, when there were severallives between me and the peerage. I have not had occasion topractise, but I have found it a useful education, all the same. Inever regretted the years which I devoted to medical study. Theseare the gates of Delamere Court."

We had come to two high pillars crowned with heraldic monsterswhich flanked the opening of a winding avenue. Over the laurelbushes and rhododendrons, I could see a long, many-gabled mansion,girdled with ivy, and toned to the warm, cheery, mellow glow of oldbrick-work. My eyes were still fixed in admiration upon thisdelightful house when my companion plucked nervously at my sleeve.

"Here's Sir Thomas," he whispered. "Please talk beetle all youcan."

A tall, thin figure, curiously angular and bony, had emergedthrough a gap in the hedge of laurels. In his hand he held a spud,and he wore gauntleted gardener's gloves. A broad-brimmed, greyhat cast his face into shadow, but it struck me as exceedinglyaustere, with an ill-nourished beard and harsh, irregular features.The fly pulled up and Lord Linchmere sprang out.

"My dear Thomas, how are you?" said he, heartily.

But the heartiness was by no means reciprocal. The owner ofthe grounds glared at me over his brother-in-law's shoulder, and Icaught broken scraps of sentences--"well-known wishes . . . hatredof strangers . . . unjustifiable intrusion . . . perfectlyinexcusable." Then there was a muttered explanation, and the twoof them came over together to the side of the fly.

"Let me present you to Sir Thomas Rossiter, Dr. Hamilton," saidLord Linchmere. "You will find that you have a strong community oftastes."

I bowed. Sir Thomas stood very stiffly, looking at me severelyfrom under the broad brim of his hat.

"Lord Linchmere tells me that you know something aboutbeetles," said he. "What do you know about beetles?"

"I know what I have learned from your work upon the coleoptera,Sir Thomas," I answered.

"Give me the names of the better-known species of the Britishscarabaei," said he.

I had not expected an examination, but fortunately I was readyfor one. My answers seemed to please him, for his stern featuresrelaxed.

"You appear to have read my book with some profit, sir," saidhe. "It is a rare thing for me to meet anyone who takes anintelligent interest in such matters. People can find time forsuch trivialities as sport or society, and yet the beetles areoverlooked. I can assure you that the greater part of the idiotsin this part of the country are unaware that I have ever written abook at all--I, the first man who ever described the true functionof the elytra. I am glad to see you, sir, and I have no doubt thatI can show you some specimens which will interest you." He steppedinto the fly and drove up with us to the house, expounding to me aswe went some recent researches which he had made into the anatomyof the lady-bird.

I have said that Sir Thomas Rossiter wore a large hat drawndown over his brows. As he entered the hall he uncovered himself,and I was at once aware of a singular characteristic which the hathad concealed. His forehead, which was naturally high, andhigher still on account of receding hair, was in a continual stateof movement. Some nervous weakness kept the muscles in a constantspasm, which sometimes produced a mere twitching and sometimes acurious rotary movement unlike anything which I had ever seenbefore. It was strikingly visible as he turned towards us afterentering the study, and seemed the more singular from the contrastwith the hard, steady, grey eyes which looked out from underneaththose palpitating brows.

"I am sorry," said he, "that Lady Rossiter is not here to helpme to welcome you. By the way, Charles, did Evelyn say anythingabout the date of her return?"

"She wished to stay in town for a few more days," said LordLinchmere. "You know how ladies' social duties accumulate if theyhave been for some time in the country. My sister has many oldfriends in London at present."

"Well, she is her own mistress, and I should not wish to alterher plans, but I shall be glad when I see her again. It is verylonely here without her company."

"I was afraid that you might find it so, and that was partlywhy I ran down. My young friend, Dr. Hamilton, is so muchinterested in the subject which you have made your own, that Ithought you would not mind his accompanying me."

"I lead a retired life, Dr. Hamilton, and my aversion tostrangers grows upon me," said our host. "I have sometimes thoughtthat my nerves are not so good as they were. My travels in searchof beetles in my younger days took me into many malarious andunhealthy places. But a brother coleopterist like yourself isalways a welcome guest, and I shall be delighted if you will lookover my collection, which I think that I may without exaggerationdescribe as the best in Europe."

And so no doubt it was. He had a huge, oaken cabinet arrangedin shallow drawers, and here, neatly ticketed and classified, werebeetles from every corner of the earth, black, brown, blue, green,and mottled. Every now and then as he swept his hand over thelines and lines of impaled insects he would catch up some rarespecimen, and, handling it with as much delicacy and reverence asif it were a precious relic, he would hold forth upon itspeculiarities and the circumstances under which it came into hispossession. It was evidently an unusual thing for him to meetwith a sympathetic listener, and he talked and talked until thespring evening had deepened into night, and the gong announced thatit was time to dress for dinner. All the time Lord Linchmere saidnothing, but he stood at his brother-in-law's elbow, and I caughthim continually shooting curious little, questioning glances intohis face. And his own features expressed some strong emotion,apprehension, sympathy, expectation: I seemed to read them all.I was sure that Lord Linchmere was fearing something and awaitingsomething, but what that something might be I could not imagine.

The evening passed quietly but pleasantly, and I should havebeen entirely at my ease if it had not been for that continualsense of tension upon the part of Lord Linchmere. As to our host,I found that he improved upon acquaintance. He spoke constantlywith affection of his absent wife, and also of his little son, whohad recently been sent to school. The house, he said, was not thesame without them. If it were not for his scientific studies, hedid not know how he could get through the days. After dinner wesmoked for some time in the billiard-room, and finally went earlyto bed.

And then it was that, for the first time, the suspicion thatLord Linchmere was a lunatic crossed my mind. He followed me intomy bedroom, when our host had retired.

"Doctor," said he, speaking in a low, hurried voice, "you mustcome with me. You must spend the night in my bedroom."

"What do you mean?"

"I prefer not to explain. But this is part of your duties. Myroom is close by, and you can return to your own before the servantcalls you in the morning."

"But why?" I asked.

"Because I am nervous of being alone," said he. "That's thereason, since you must have a reason."

It seemed rank lunacy, but the argument of those twenty poundswould overcome many objections. I followed him to his room.

"Well," said I, "there's only room for one in that bed."

"Only one shall occupy it," said he.

"And the other?"

"Must remain on watch."

"Why?" said I. "One would think you expected to be attacked."

"Perhaps I do."

"In that case, why not lock your door?"

"Perhaps I WANT to be attacked."

It looked more and more like lunacy. However, there wasnothing for it but to submit. I shrugged my shoulders and sat downin the arm-chair beside the empty fireplace.

"I am to remain on watch, then?" said I, ruefully.

"We will divide the night. If you will watch until two, I willwatch the remainder."

"Very good."

"Call me at two o'clock, then."

"I will do so."

"Keep your ears open, and if you hear any sounds wake meinstantly--instantly, you hear?"

"You can rely upon it." I tried to look as solemn as he did.

"And for God's sake don't go to sleep," said he, and so, takingoff only his coat, he threw the coverlet over him and settled downfor the night.

"It was a melancholy vigil, and made more so by my own sense ofits folly. Supposing that by any chance Lord Linchmere had causeto suspect that he was subject to danger in the house of Sir ThomasRossiter, why on earth could he not lock his door and so protecthimself?" His own answer that he might wish to be attacked wasabsurd. Why should he possibly wish to be attacked? And who wouldwish to attack him? Clearly, Lord Linchmere was suffering fromsome singular delusion, and the result was that on an imbecilepretext I was to be deprived of my night's rest. Still, howeverabsurd, I was determined to carry out his injunctions to the letteras long as I was in his employment. I sat, therefore, beside theempty fireplace, and listened to a sonorous chiming clock somewheredown the passage which gurgled and struck every quarter of an hour.It was an endless vigil. Save for that single clock, an absolutesilence reigned throughout the great house. A small lamp stood onthe table at my elbow, throwing a circle of light round my chair,but leaving the corners of the room draped in shadow. On the bedLord Linchmere was breathing peacefully. I envied him his quietsleep, and again and again my own eyelids drooped, but everytime my sense of duty came to my help, and I sat up, rubbing myeyes and pinching myself with a determination to see my irrationalwatch to an end.

And I did so. From down the passage came the chimes of twoo'clock, and I laid my hand upon the shoulder of the sleeper.Instantly he was sitting up, with an expression of the keenestinterest upon his face.

"You have heard something?"

"No, sir. It is two o'clock."

"Very good. I will watch. You can go to sleep."

I lay down under the coverlet as he had done and was soonunconscious. My last recollection was of that circle of lamplight,and of the small, hunched-up figure and strained, anxious face ofLord Linchmere in the centre of it.

How long I slept I do not know; but I was suddenly aroused bya sharp tug at my sleeve. The room was in darkness, but a hotsmell of oil told me that the lamp had only that instant beenextinguished.

"Quick! Quick!" said Lord Linchmere's voice in my ear.

I sprang out of bed, he still dragging at my arm.

"Over here!" he whispered, and pulled me into a corner of theroom. "Hush! Listen!"

In the silence of the night I could distinctly hear thatsomeone was coming down the corridor. It was a stealthy step,faint and intermittent, as of a man who paused cautiously afterevery stride. Sometimes for half a minute there was no sound, andthen came the shuffle and creak which told of a fresh advance. Mycompanion was trembling with excitement. His hand, which stillheld my sleeve, twitched like a branch in the wind.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"It's he!"

"Sir Thomas?"

"Yes."

"What does he want?"

"Hush! Do nothing until I tell you."

I was conscious now that someone was trying the door. Therewas the faintest little rattle from the handle, and then I dimlysaw a thin slit of subdued light. There was a lamp burningsomewhere far down the passage, and it just sufficed to make theoutside visible from the darkness of our room. The greyish slitgrew broader and broader, very gradually, very gently, and thenoutlined against it I saw the dark figure of a man. He was squatand crouching, with the silhouette of a bulky and misshapen dwarf.Slowly the door swung open with this ominous shape framed in thecentre of it. And then, in an instant, the crouching figure shotup, there was a tiger spring across the room and thud, thud, thud,came three tremendous blows from some heavy object upon the bed.

I was so paralysed with amazement that I stood motionless andstaring until I was aroused by a yell for help from my companion.The open door shed enough light for me to see the outline ofthings, and there was little Lord Linchmere with his arms round theneck of his brother-in-law, holding bravely on to him like a gamebull-terrier with its teeth into a gaunt deerhound. The tall, bonyman dashed himself about, writhing round and round to get a gripupon his assailant; but the other, clutching on from behind, stillkept his hold, though his shrill, frightened cries showed howunequal he felt the contest to be. I sprang to the rescue, and thetwo of us managed to throw Sir Thomas to the ground, though he madehis teeth meet in my shoulder. With all my youth and weight andstrength, it was a desperate struggle before we could master hisfrenzied struggles; but at last we secured his arms with the waist-cordof the dressing-gown which he was wearing. I was holding hislegs while Lord Linchmere was endeavouring to relight the lamp,when there came the pattering of many feet in the passage, and thebutler and two footmen, who had been alarmed by the cries, rushedinto the room. With their aid we had no further difficulty insecuring our prisoner, who lay foaming and glaring upon the ground.One glance at his face was enough to prove that he was a dangerousmaniac, while the short, heavy hammer which lay beside the bedshowed how murderous had been his intentions.

"Do not use any violence!" said Lord Linchmere, as we raisedthe struggling man to his feet. "He will have a period of stuporafter this excitement. I believe that it is coming on already."As he spoke the convulsions became less violent, and the madman'shead fell forward upon his breast, as if he were overcome bysleep. We led him down the passage and stretched him upon his ownbed, where he lay unconscious, breathing heavily.

"Two of you will watch him," said Lord Linchmere. "And now,Dr. Hamilton, if you will return with me to my room, I will giveyou the explanation which my horror of scandal has perhaps causedme to delay too long. Come what may, you will never have cause toregret your share in this night's work.

"The case may be made clear in a very few words," he continued,when we were alone. "My poor brother-in-law is one of the bestfellows upon earth, a loving husband and an estimable father, buthe comes from a stock which is deeply tainted with insanity. Hehas more than once had homicidal outbreaks, which are the morepainful because his inclination is always to attack the very personto whom he is most attached. His son was sent away to school toavoid this danger, and then came an attempt upon my sister, hiswife, from which she escaped with injuries that you may haveobserved when you met her in London. You understand that he knowsnothing of the matter when he is in his sound senses, and wouldridicule the suggestion that he could under any circumstancesinjure those whom he loves so dearly. It is often, as you know, acharacteristic of such maladies that it is absolutely impossible toconvince the man who suffers from them of their existence.

"Our great object was, of course, to get him under restraintbefore he could stain his hands with blood, but the matter was fullof difficulty. He is a recluse in his habits, and would not seeany medical man. Besides, it was necessary for our purpose thatthe medical man should convince himself of his insanity; and he issane as you or I, save on these very rare occasions. But,fortunately, before he has these attacks he always shows certainpremonitory symptoms, which are providential danger-signals,warning us to be upon our guard. The chief of these is thatnervous contortion of the forehead which you must have observed.This is a phenomenon which always appears from three to four daysbefore his attacks of frenzy. The moment it showed itself his wifecame into town on some pretext, and took refuge in my house inBrook Street.

"It remained for me to convince a medical man of Sir Thomas'sinsanity, without which it was impossible to put him where he coulddo no harm. The first problem was how to get a medical man intohis house. I bethought me of his interest in beetles, and his lovefor anyone who shared his tastes. I advertised, therefore, and wasfortunate enough to find in you the very man I wanted. A stoutcompanion was necessary, for I knew that the lunacy could only beproved by a murderous assault, and I had every reason to believethat that assault would be made upon myself, since he had thewarmest regard for me in his moments of sanity. I think yourintelligence will supply all the rest. I did not know that theattack would come by night, but I thought it very probable, for thecrises of such cases usually do occur in the early hours of themorning. I am a very nervous man myself, but I saw no other way inwhich I could remove this terrible danger from my sister's life.I need not ask you whether you are willing to sign the lunacypapers."

"Undoubtedly. But TWO signatures are necessary."

"You forget that I am myself a holder of a medical degree. Ihave the papers on a side-table here, so if you will be good enoughto sign them now, we can have the patient removed in the morning."

So that was my visit to Sir Thomas Rossiter, the famous beetle-hunter,and that was also my first step upon the ladder of success,for Lady Rossiter and Lord Linchmere have proved to be staunchfriends, and they have never forgotten my association with them inthe time of their need. Sir Thomas is out and said to be cured,but I still think that if I spent another night at Delamere Court,I should be inclined to lock my door upon the inside.

The Man with the Watches

There are many who will still bear in mind the singularcircumstances which, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery,filled many columns of the daily Press in the spring of the year1892. Coming as it did at a period of exceptional dullness, itattracted perhaps rather more attention than it deserved, but itoffered to the public that mixture of the whimsical and thetragic which is most stimulating to the popular imagination.Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks of fruitlessinvestigation, it was found that no final explanation of thefacts was forthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time tothe present to have finally taken its place in the dark catalogueof inexplicable and unexpiated crimes. A recent communication(the authenticity of which appears to be above question) has,however, thrown some new and clear light upon the matter. Beforelaying it before the public it would be as well, perhaps, that Ishould refresh their memories as to the singular facts upon whichthis commentary is founded. These facts were briefly as follows:

At five o'clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the yearalready mentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. Itwas a rainy, squally day, which grew wilder as it progressed, so itwas by no means the weather in which anyone would travel who wasnot driven to do so by necessity. The train, however, is afavourite one among Manchester business men who are returning fromtown, for it does the journey in four hours and twenty minutes,with only three stoppages upon the way. In spite of the inclementevening it was, therefore, fairly well filled upon the occasion ofwhich I speak. The guard of the train was a tried servant of thecompany--a man who had worked for twenty-two years without ablemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer.

The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guardwas about to give the customary signal to the engine-driver when heobserved two belated passengers hurrying down the platform. Theone was an exceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoatwith astrakhan collar and cuffs. I have already said that theevening was an inclement one, and the tall traveller had the high,warm collar turned up to protect his throat against the bitterMarch wind. He appeared, as far as the guard could judge by sohurried an inspection, to be a man between fifty and sixty years ofage, who had retained a good deal of the vigour and activity of hisyouth. In one hand he carried a brown leather Gladstone bag. Hiscompanion was a lady, tall and erect, walking with a vigorous stepwhich outpaced the gentleman beside her. She wore a long, fawn-coloureddust-cloak, a black, close-fitting toque, and a dark veilwhich concealed the greater part of her face. The two might verywell have passed as father and daughter. They walked swiftly downthe line of carriages, glancing in at the windows, until the guard,John Palmer, overtook them.

"Now then, sir, look sharp, the train is going," said he.

"First-class," the man answered.

The guard turned the handle of the nearest door. In thecarriage which he had opened, there sat a small man with a cigar inhis mouth. His appearance seems to have impressed itself upon theguard's memory, for he was prepared, afterwards, to describe or toidentify him. He was a man of thirty-four or thirty-five years ofage, dressed in some grey material, sharp-nosed, alert, with aruddy, weather-beaten face, and a small, closely cropped, blackbeard. He glanced up as the door was opened. The tall man pausedwith his foot upon the step.

"This is a smoking compartment. The lady dislikes smoke," saidhe, looking round at the guard.

"All right! Here you are, sir!" said John Palmer. He slammed the door ofthe smoking carriage, opened that of the next one, which was empty, andthrust the two travellers in. At the same moment he sounded his whistleand the wheels of the train began to move. The man with the cigar was atthe window of his carriage, and said something to the guard as he rolledpast him, but the words were lost in the bustle of the departure. Palmerstepped into the guard's van, as it came up to him, and thought no moreof the incident.

Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached WillesdenJunction, where it stopped for a very short interval. Anexamination of the tickets has made it certain that no one eitherjoined or left it at this time, and no passenger was seen to alightupon the platform. At 5:14 the journey to Manchester was resumed,and Rugby was reached at 6:50, the express being five minutes late.

At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn tothe fact that the door of one of the first-class carriages wasopen. An examination of that compartment, and of its neighbour,disclosed a remarkable state of affairs.

The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with theblack beard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smokedcigar, there was no trace whatever of its recent occupant. Thedoor of this carriage was fastened. In the next compartment, towhich attention had been originally drawn, there was no sign eitherof the gentleman with the astrakhan collar or of the young lady whoaccompanied him. All three passengers had disappeared. On theother hand, there was found upon the floor of this carriage--theone in which the tall traveller and the lady had been--a young manfashionably dressed and of elegant appearance. He lay with hisknees drawn up, and his head resting against the farther door, anelbow upon either seat. A bullet had penetrated his heart and hisdeath must have been instantaneous. No one had seen such a manenter the train, and no railway ticket was found in his pocket,neither were there any markings upon his linen, nor papers norpersonal property which might help to identify him. Who he was,whence he had come, and how he had met his end were each as greata mystery as what had occurred to the three people who had startedan hour and a half before from Willesden in those two compartments.

I have said that there was no personal property which mighthelp to identify him, but it is true that there was one peculiarityabout this unknown young man which was much commented upon at thetime. In his pockets were found no fewer than six valuable goldwatches, three in the various pockets of his waist-coat, one in histicket-pocket, one in his breast-pocket, and one small one setin a leather strap and fastened round his left wrist. The obviousexplanation that the man was a pickpocket, and that this was hisplunder, was discounted by the fact that all six were of Americanmake and of a type which is rare in England. Three of them borethe mark of the Rochester Watchmaking Company; one was by Mason, ofElmira; one was unmarked; and the small one, which was highlyjewelled and ornamented, was from Tiffany, of New York. The othercontents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knife with a corkscrewby Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small, circular mirror, one inch indiameter; a readmission slip to the Lyceum Theatre; a silver boxfull of vesta matches, and a brown leather cigar-case containingtwo cheroots--also two pounds fourteen shillings in money. It wasclear, then, that whatever motives may have led to his death,robbery was not among them. As already mentioned, there were nomarkings upon the man's linen, which appeared to be new, and notailor's name upon his coat. In appearance he was young, short,smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured. One of his front teethwas conspicuously stopped with gold.

On the discovery of the tragedy an examination was instantlymade of the tickets of all passengers, and the number of thepassengers themselves was counted. It was found that only threetickets were unaccounted for, corresponding to the three travellerswho were missing. The express was then allowed to proceed, but anew guard was sent with it, and John Palmer was detained as awitness at Rugby. The carriage which included the two compartmentsin question was uncoupled and side-tracked. Then, on the arrivalof Inspector Vane, of Scotland Yard, and of Mr. Henderson, adetective in the service of the railway company, an exhaustiveinquiry was made into all the circumstances.

That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet, which appeared tohave come from a small pistol or revolver, had been fired from somelittle distance, as there was no scorching of the clothes. No weapon wasfound in the compartment (which finally disposed of the theory ofsuicide), nor was there any sign of the brown leather bag which theguard had seen in the hand of the tall gentleman. A lady's parasol wasfound upon the rack, but no other trace was to be seen of the travellersin either of the sections. Apart from the crime, the question of how orwhy three passengers (one of them a lady) could get out of the train,and one other get in during the unbroken run between Willesden andRugby, was one which excited the utmost curiosity among the generalpublic, and gave rise to much speculation in the London Press.

John Palmer, the guard was able at the inquest to give someevidence which threw a little light upon the matter. There was aspot between Tring and Cheddington, according to his statement,where, on account of some repairs to the line, the train had for afew minutes slowed down to a pace not exceeding eight or ten milesan hour. At that place it might be possible for a man, or even foran exceptionally active woman, to have left the train withoutserious injury. It was true that a gang of platelayers was there,and that they had seen nothing, but it was their custom to stand inthe middle between the metals, and the open carriage door was uponthe far side, so that it was conceivable that someone might havealighted unseen, as the darkness would by that time be drawing in.A steep embankment would instantly screen anyone who sprang outfrom the observation of the navvies.

The guard also deposed that there was a good deal of movementupon the platform at Willesden Junction, and that though it wascertain that no one had either joined or left the train there, itwas still quite possible that some of the passengers might havechanged unseen from one compartment to another. It was by no meansuncommon for a gentleman to finish his cigar in a smoking carriageand then to change to a clearer atmosphere. Supposing that the manwith the black beard had done so at Willesden (and the half-smokedcigar upon the floor seemed to favour the supposition), he wouldnaturally go into the nearest section, which would bring him intothe company of the two other actors in this drama. Thus the firststage of the affair might be surmised without any great breach ofprobability. But what the second stage had been, or how the finalone had been arrived at, neither the guard nor the experienceddetective officers could suggest.

A careful examination of the line between Willesden and Rugbyresulted in one discovery which might or might not have a bearingupon the tragedy. Near Tring, at the very place where the trainslowed down, there was found at the bottom of the embankment asmall pocket Testament, very shabby and worn. It was printedby the Bible Society of London, and bore an inscription: "FromJohn to Alice. Jan. 13th, 1856," upon the fly-leaf. Underneathwas written: "James. July 4th, 1859," and beneath that again:"Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869," all the entries being in the samehandwriting. This was the only clue, if it could be called a clue,which the police obtained, and the coroner's verdict of "Murder bya person or persons unknown" was the unsatisfactory ending of asingular case. Advertisement, rewards, and inquiries provedequally fruitless, and nothing could be found which was solidenough to form the basis for a profitable investigation.

It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that no theorieswere formed to account for the facts. On the contrary, the Press,both in England and in America, teemed with suggestions andsuppositions, most of which were obviously absurd. The fact thatthe watches were of American make, and some peculiarities inconnection with the gold stopping of his front tooth, appeared toindicate that the deceased was a citizen of the United States,though his linen, clothes and boots were undoubtedly of Britishmanufacture. It was surmised, by some, that he was concealed underthe seat, and that, being discovered, he was for some reason,possibly because he had overheard their guilty secrets, put todeath by his fellow-passengers. When coupled with generalities asto the ferocity and cunning of anarchical and other secretsocieties, this theory sounded as plausible as any.

The fact that he should be without a ticket would be consistentwith the idea of concealment, and it was well known that womenplayed a prominent part in the Nihilistic propaganda. On the otherhand, it was clear, from the guard's statement, that the man musthave been hidden there BEFORE the others arrived, and howunlikely the coincidence that conspirators should stray exactlyinto the very compartment in which a spy was already concealed!Besides, this explanation ignored the man in the smoking carriage,and gave no reason at all for his simultaneous disappearance. Thepolice had little difficulty in showing that such a theory wouldnot cover the facts, but they were unprepared in the absence ofevidence to advance any alternative explanation.

There was a letter in the Daily Gazette, over the signature of awell-known criminal investigator, which gave rise to considerablediscussion at the time. He had formed a hypothesis which had at leastingenuity to recommend it, and I cannot do better than append it in hisown words.

"Whatever may be the truth," said he, "it must depend upon somebizarre and rare combination of events, so we need have nohesitation in postulating such events in our explanation. In theabsence of data we must abandon the analytic or scientific methodof investigation, and must approach it in the synthetic fashion.In a word, instead of taking known events and deducing from themwhat has occurred, we must build up a fanciful explanation if itwill only be consistent with known events. We can then test thisexplanation by any fresh facts which may arise. If they all fitinto their places, the probability is that we are upon the righttrack, and with each fresh fact this probability increases in ageometrical progression until the evidence becomes final andconvincing.

"Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive fact whichhas not met with the attention which it deserves. There is a localtrain running through Harrow and King's Langley, which is timed insuch a way that the express must have overtaken it at or about theperiod when it eased down its speed to eight miles an hour onaccount of the repairs of the line. The two trains would at thattime be travelling in the same direction at a similar rate of speedand upon parallel lines. It is within every one's experience how,under such circumstances, the occupant of each carriage can seevery plainly the passengers in the other carriages opposite to him.The lamps of the express had been lit at Willesden, so that eachcompartment was brightly illuminated, and most visible to anobserver from outside.

"Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them would beafter this fashion. This young man with the abnormal number ofwatches was alone in the carriage of the slow train. His ticket,with his papers and gloves and other things, was, we will suppose,on the seat beside him. He was probably an American, and alsoprobably a man of weak intellect. The excessive wearing ofjewellery is an early symptom in some forms of mania.

"As he sat watching the carriages of the express which were(on account of the state of the line) going at the same pace ashimself, he suddenly saw some people in it whom he knew. We willsuppose for the sake of our theory that these people were awoman whom he loved and a man whom he hated--and who in returnhated him. The young man was excitable and impulsive. He openedthe door of his carriage, stepped from the footboard of the localtrain to the footboard of the express, opened the other door, andmade his way into the presence of these two people. The feat (onthe supposition that the trains were going at the same pace) is byno means so perilous as it might appear.

"Having now got our young man, without his ticket, into thecarriage in which the elder man and the young woman are travelling,it is not difficult to imagine that a violent scene ensued. It ispossible that the pair were also Americans, which is the moreprobable as the man carried a weapon--an unusual thing in England.If our supposition of incipient mania is correct, the young man islikely to have assaulted the other. As the upshot of the quarrelthe elder man shot the intruder, and then made his escape from thecarriage, taking the young lady with him. We will suppose that allthis happened very rapidly, and that the train was still going atso slow a pace that it was not difficult for them to leave it. Awoman might leave a train going at eight miles an hour. As amatter of fact, we know that this woman DID do so.

"And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking carriage. Presumingthat we have, up to this point, reconstructed the tragedy correctly, weshall find nothing in this other man to cause us to reconsider ourconclusions. According to my theory, this man saw the young fellow crossfrom one train to the other, saw him open the door, heard thepistol-shot, saw the two fugitives spring out on to the line, realizedthat murder had been done, and sprang out himself in pursuit. Why he hasnever been heard of since--whether he met his own death in the pursuit,or whether, as is more likely, he was made to realize that it was not acase for his interference--is a detail which we have at present no meansof explaining. I acknowledge that there are some difficulties in theway. At first sight, it might seem improbable that at such a moment amurderer would burden himself in his flight with a brown leather bag. Myanswer is that he was well aware that if the bag were found his identitywould be established. It was absolutely necessary for him to take itwith him. My theory stands or falls upon one point, and I call upon therailway company to make strict inquiry as to whether a ticket was foundunclaimed in the local train through Harrow and King's Langley upon the18th of March. If such a ticket were found my case is proved. If not, mytheory may still be the correct one, for it is conceivable either thathe travelled without a ticket or that his ticket was lost."

To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the answer of thepolice and of the company was, first, that no such ticket wasfound; secondly, that the slow train would never run parallel tothe express; and, thirdly, that the local train had been stationaryin King's Langley Station when the express, going at fifty miles anhour, had flashed past it. So perished the only satisfyingexplanation, and five years have elapsed without supplying a newone. Now, at last, there comes a statement which covers all thefacts, and which must be regarded as authentic. It took the shapeof a letter dated from New York, and addressed to the same criminalinvestigator whose theory I have quoted. It is given here inextenso, with the exception of the two opening paragraphs, whichare personal in their nature:

"You'll excuse me if I'm not very free with names. There'sless reason now than there was five years ago when mother was stillliving. But for all that, I had rather cover up our tracks all Ican. But I owe you an explanation, for if your idea of it waswrong, it was a mighty ingenious one all the same. I'll have to goback a little so as you may understand all about it.

"My people came from Bucks, England, and emigrated to theStates in the early fifties. They settled in Rochester, in theState of New York, where my father ran a large dry goods store.There were only two sons: myself, James, and my brother, Edward.I was ten years older than my brother, and after my father died Isort of took the place of a father to him, as an elder brotherwould. He was a bright, spirited boy, and just one of the mostbeautiful creatures that ever lived. But there was always a softspot in him, and it was like mould in cheese, for it spread andspread, and nothing that you could do would stop it. Mother saw itjust as clearly as I did, but she went on spoiling him all thesame, for he had such a way with him that you could refuse himnothing. I did all I could to hold him in, and he hated me for mypains.

"At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we could dowould stop him. He got off into New York, and went rapidlyfrom bad to worse. At first he was only fast, and then he wascriminal; and then, at the end of a year or two, he was one of themost notorious young crooks in the city. He had formed afriendship with Sparrow MacCoy, who was at the head of hisprofession as a bunco-steerer, green goodsman and general rascal.They took to card-sharping, and frequented some of the best hotelsin New York. My brother was an excellent actor (he might have madean honest name for himself if he had chosen), and he would take theparts of a young Englishman of title, of a simple lad from theWest, or of a college undergraduate, whichever suited SparrowMacCoy's purpose. And then one day he dressed himself as a girl,and he carried it off so well, and made himself such a valuabledecoy, that it was their favourite game afterwards. They had madeit right with Tammany and with the police, so it seemed as ifnothing could ever stop them, for those were in the days before theLexow Commission, and if you only had a pull, you could do prettynearly everything you wanted.

"And nothing would have stopped them if they had only stuck tocards and New York, but they must needs come up Rochester way, andforge a name upon a cheque. It was my brother that did it, thougheveryone knew that it was under the influence of Sparrow MacCoy.I bought up that cheque, and a pretty sum it cost me. Then I wentto my brother, laid it before him on the table, and swore to himthat I would prosecute if he did not clear out of the country. Atfirst he simply laughed. I could not prosecute, he said, withoutbreaking our mother's heart, and he knew that I would not do that.I made him understand, however, that our mother's heart was beingbroken in any case, and that I had set firm on the point that Iwould rather see him in Rochester gaol than in a New York hotel.So at last he gave in, and he made me a solemn promise that hewould see Sparrow MacCoy no more, that he would go to Europe, andthat he would turn his hand to any honest trade that I helped himto get. I took him down right away to an old family friend, JoeWillson, who is an exporter of American watches and clocks, and Igot him to give Edward an agency in London, with a small salary anda 15 per cent commission on all business. His manner andappearance were so good that he won the old man over at once,and within a week he was sent off to London with a case fullof samples.

"It seemed to me that this business of the cheque had reallygiven my brother a fright, and that there was some chance of hissettling down into an honest line of life. My mother had spokenwith him, and what she said had touched him, for she had alwaysbeen the best of mothers to him and he had been the great sorrow ofher life. But I knew that this man Sparrow MacCoy had a greatinfluence over Edward and my chance of keeping the lad straight layin breaking the connection between them. I had a friend in the NewYork detective force, and through him I kept a watch upon MacCoy.When, within a fortnight of my brother's sailing, I heard thatMacCoy had taken a berth in the Etruria, I was as certain as ifhe had told me that he was going over to England for the purpose ofcoaxing Edward back again into the ways that he had left. In aninstant I had resolved to go also, and to pit my influence againstMacCoy's. I knew it was a losing fight, but I thought, and mymother thought, that it was my duty. We passed the last nighttogether in prayer for my success, and she gave me her ownTestament that my father had given her on the day of their marriagein the Old Country, so that I might always wear it next my heart.

"I was a fellow-traveller, on the steamship, with SparrowMacCoy, and at least I had the satisfaction of spoiling his littlegame for the voyage. The very first night I went into the smoking-room,and found him at the head of a card-table, with a half adozen young fellows who were carrying their full purses and theirempty skulls over to Europe. He was settling down for his harvest,and a rich one it would have been. But I soon changed all that.

"'Gentlemen,' said I, 'are you aware whom you are playingwith?'

"'What's that to you? You mind your own business!' said he,with an oath.

"'Who is it, anyway?' asked one of the dudes.

"'He's Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious card-sharper in theStates.'

"Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he rememberedthat he was under the flag of the effete Old Country, wherelaw and order run, and Tammany has no pull. Gaol and the gallowswait for violence and murder, and there's no slipping out by theback door on board an ocean liner.

"'Prove your words, you ----!' said he.

"'I will!' said I. 'If you will turn up your right shirt-sleeveto the shoulder, I will either prove my words or I will eat them.'

"He turned white and said not a word. You see, I knewsomething of his ways, and I was aware of that part of themechanism which he and all such sharpers use consists of an elasticdown the arm with a clip just above the wrist. It is by means ofthis clip that they withdraw from their hands the cards which theydo not want, while they substitute other cards from another hidingplace. I reckoned on it being there, and it was. He cursed me,slunk out of the saloon, and was hardly seen again during thevoyage. For once, at any rate, I got level with Mister SparrowMacCoy.

"But he soon had his revenge upon me, for when it came toinfluencing my brother he outweighed me every time. Edward hadkept himself straight in London for the first few weeks, and haddone some business with his American watches, until this villaincame across his path once more. I did my best, but the best waslittle enough. The next thing I heard there had been a scandal atone of the Northumberland Avenue hotels: a traveller had beenfleeced of a large sum by two confederate card-sharpers, and thematter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. The first I learned ofit was in the evening paper, and I was at once certain that mybrother and MacCoy were back at their old games. I hurried at onceto Edward's lodgings. They told me that he and a tall gentleman(whom I recognized as MacCoy) had gone off together, and that hehad left the lodgings and taken his things with him. The landladyhad heard them give several directions to the cabman, ending withEuston Station, and she had accidentally overheard the tallgentleman saying something about Manchester. She believed thatthat was their destination.

"A glance at the time-table showed me that the most likelytrain was at five, though there was another at 4:35 which theymight have caught. I had only time to get the later one, but foundno sign of them either at the depot or in the train. Theymust have gone on by the earlier one, so I determined tofollow them to Manchester and search for them in the hotels there.One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to my mothermight even now be the salvation of him. My nerves were overstrung,and I lit a cigar to steady them. At that moment, just as thetrain was moving off, the door of my compartment was flung open,and there were MacCoy and my brother on the platform.

"They were both disguised, and with good reason, for they knewthat the London police were after them. MacCoy had a greatastrakhan collar drawn up, so that only his eyes and nose wereshowing. My brother was dressed like a woman, with a black veilhalf down his face, but of course it did not deceive me for aninstant, nor would it have done so even if I had not known that hehad often used such a dress before. I started up, and as I did soMacCoy recognized me. He said something, the conductor slammed thedoor, and they were shown into the next compartment. I tried tostop the train so as to follow them, but the wheels were alreadymoving, and it was too late.

"When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage.It appears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising,as the station was crowded with people. MacCoy, of course, wasexpecting me, and he had spent the time between Euston andWillesden in saying all he could to harden my brother's heart andset him against me. That is what I fancy, for I had never foundhim so impossible to soften or to move. I tried this way and Itried that; I pictured his future in an English gaol; I describedthe sorrow of his mother when I came back with the news; I saideverything to touch his heart, but all to no purpose. He sat therewith a fixed sneer upon his handsome face, while every now and thenSparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or some word ofencouragement to hold my brother to his resolutions.

"'Why don't you run a Sunday-school?' he would say to me, andthen, in the same breath: 'He thinks you have no will of your own.He thinks you are just the baby brother and that he can lead youwhere he likes. He's only just finding out that you are a man aswell as he.'

"It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. Wehad left Willesden, you understand, for all this took some time.My temper got the better of me, and for the first time in mylife I let my brother see the rough side of me. Perhaps it wouldhave been better had I done so earlier and more often.

"'A man!' said I. 'Well, I'm glad to have your friend'sassurance of it, for no one would suspect it to see you like aboarding-school missy. I don't suppose in all this country thereis a more contemptible-looking creature than you are as you sitthere with that Dolly pinafore upon you.' He coloured up at that,for he was a vain man, and he winced from ridicule.

"'It's only a dust-cloak,' said he, and he slipped it off.'One has to throw the coppers off one's scent, and I had no otherway to do it.' He took his toque off with the veil attached, andhe put both it and the cloak into his brown bag. 'Anyway, I don'tneed to wear it until the conductor comes round,' said he.

"'Nor then, either,' said I, and taking the bag I slung it withall my force out of the window. 'Now,' said I, 'you'll never makea Mary Jane of yourself while I can help it. If nothing but thatdisguise stands between you and a gaol, then to gaol you shall go.'

"That was the way to manage him. I felt my advantage at once.His supple nature was one which yielded to roughness far morereadily than to entreaty. He flushed with shame, and his eyesfilled with tears. But MacCoy saw my advantage also, and wasdetermined that I should not pursue it.

"'He's my pard, and you shall not bully him,' he cried.

"'He's my brother, and you shall not ruin him,' said I. 'Ibelieve a spell of prison is the very best way of keeping youapart, and you shall have it, or it will be no fault of mine.'

"'Oh, you would squeal, would you?' he cried, and in an instanthe whipped out his revolver. I sprang for his hand, but saw thatI was too late, and jumped aside. At the same instant he fired,and the bullet which would have struck me passed through the heartof my unfortunate brother.

"He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the compartment,and MacCoy and I, equally horrified, knelt at each side of him,trying to bring back some signs of life. MacCoy still held theloaded revolver in his hand, but his anger against me and myresentment towards him had both for the moment been swallowed up inthis sudden tragedy. It was he who first realized the situation.The train was for some reason going very slowly at the moment,and he saw his opportunity for escape. In an instant he had thedoor open, but I was as quick as he, and jumping upon him the twoof us fell off the footboard and rolled in each other's arms downa steep embankment. At the bottom I struck my head against astone, and I remembered nothing more. When I came to myself I waslying among some low bushes, not far from the railroad track, andsomebody was bathing my head with a wet handkerchief. It wasSparrow MacCoy.

"'I guess I couldn't leave you,' said he. 'I didn't want tohave the blood of two of you on my hands in one day. You lovedyour brother, I've no doubt; but you didn't love him a cent morethan I loved him, though you'll say that I took a queer way to showit. Anyhow, it seems a mighty empty world now that he is gone, andI don't care a continental whether you give me over to the hangmanor not.'

"He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we sat, he withhis useless foot, and I with my throbbing head, and we talked andtalked until gradually my bitterness began to soften and to turninto something like sympathy. What was the use of revenging hisdeath upon a man who was as much stricken by that death as I was?And then, as my wits gradually returned, I began to realize alsothat I could do nothing against MacCoy which would not recoil uponmy mother and myself. How could we convict him without a fullaccount of my brother's career being made public--the very thingwhich of all others we wished to avoid? It was really as much ourinterest as his to cover the matter up, and from being an avengerof crime I found myself changed to a conspirator against Justice.The place in which we found ourselves was one of those pheasantpreserves which are so common in the Old Country, and as we gropedour way through it I found myself consulting the slayer of mybrother as to how far it would be possible to hush it up.

"I soon realized from what he said that unless there were somepapers of which we knew nothing in my brother's pockets, there wasreally no possible means by which the police could identify him orlearn how he had got there. His ticket was in MacCoy's pocket, andso was the ticket for some baggage which they had left at thedepot. Like most Americans, he had found it cheaper and easier tobuy an outfit in London than to bring one from New York, sothat all his linen and clothes were new and unmarked. The bag,containing the dust-cloak, which I had thrown out of the window,may have fallen among some bramble patch where it is stillconcealed, or may have been carried off by some tramp, or may havecome into the possession of the police, who kept the incident tothemselves. Anyhow, I have seen nothing about it in the Londonpapers. As to the watches, they were a selection from those whichhad been intrusted to him for business purposes. It may have beenfor the same business purposes that he was taking them toManchester, but--well, it's too late to enter into that.

"I don't blame the police for being at fault. I don't see howit could have been otherwise. There was just one little clue thatthey might have followed up, but it was a small one. I mean thatsmall, circular mirror which was found in my brother's pocket. Itisn't a very common thing for a young man to carry about with him,is it? But a gambler might have told you what such a mirror maymean to a card-sharper. If you sit back a little from the table,and lay the mirror, face upwards, upon your lap, you can see, asyou deal, every card that you give to your adversary. It is nothard to say whether you see a man or raise him when you know hiscards as well as your own. It was as much a part of a sharper'soutfit as the elastic clip upon Sparrow MacCoy's arm. Taking that,in connection with the recent frauds at the hotels, the policemight have got hold of one end of the string.

"I don't think there is much more for me to explain. We got toa village called Amersham that night in the character of twogentlemen upon a walking tour, and afterwards we made our wayquietly to London, whence MacCoy went on to Cairo and I returned toNew York. My mother died six months afterwards, and I am glad tosay that to the day of her death she never knew what happened. Shewas always under the delusion that Edward was earning an honestliving in London, and I never had the heart to tell her the truth.He never wrote; but, then, he never did write at any time, so thatmade no difference. His name was the last upon her lips.

"There's just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, andI should take it as a kind return for all this explanation, if youcould do it for me. You remember that Testament that waspicked up. I always carried it in my inside pocket, and itmust have come out in my fall. I value it very highly, for it wasthe family book with my birth and my brother's marked by my fatherin the beginning of it. I wish you would apply at the proper placeand have it sent to me. It can be of no possible value to anyoneelse. If you address it to X, Bassano's Library, Broadway, NewYork, it is sure to come to hand."

The Japanned Box

It WAS a curious thing, said the private tutor; one of thosegrotesque and whimsical incidents which occur to one as one goesthrough life. I lost the best situation which I am ever likelyto have through it. But I am glad that I went to Thorpe Place,for I gained--well, as I tell you the story you will learn what Igained.

I don't know whether you are familiar with that part of theMidlands which is drained by the Avon. It is the most English partof England. Shakespeare, the flower of the whole race, was bornright in the middle of it. It is a land of rolling pastures,rising in higher folds to the westwards, until they swell into theMalvern Hills. There are no towns, but numerous villages, eachwith its grey Norman church. You have left the brick of thesouthern and eastern counties behind you, and everything is stone--stonefor the walls, and lichened slabs of stone for the roofs. It is all grimand solid and massive, as befits the heart of a great nation.

It was in the middle of this country, not very far fromEvesham, that Sir John Bollamore lived in the old ancestral home ofThorpe Place, and thither it was that I came to teach his twolittle sons. Sir John was a widower--his wife had died three yearsbefore--and he had been left with these two lads aged eight andten, and one dear little girl of seven. Miss Witherton, who is nowmy wife, was governess to this little girl. I was tutor to the twoboys. Could there be a more obvious prelude to an engagement? Shegoverns me now, and I tutor two little boys of our own. But,there--I have already revealed what it was which I gained in ThorpePlace!

It was a very, very old house, incredibly old--pre-Norman, someof it--and the Bollamores claimed to have lived in that situationsince long before the Conquest. It struck a chill to my heart whenfirst I came there, those enormously thick grey walls, the rudecrumbling stones, the smell as from a sick animal which exhaledfrom the rotting plaster of the aged building. But the modern wingwas bright and the garden was well kept. No house could be dismalwhich had a pretty girl inside it and such a show of roses infront.

Apart from a very complete staff of servants there were onlyfour of us in the household. These were Miss Witherton, who was atthat time four-and-twenty and as pretty--well, as pretty as Mrs.Colmore is now--myself, Frank Colmore, aged thirty, Mrs. Stevens,the housekeeper, a dry, silent woman, and Mr. Richards, a tallmilitary-looking man, who acted as steward to the Bollamoreestates. We four always had our meals together, but Sir John hadhis usually alone in the library. Sometimes he joined us atdinner, but on the whole we were just as glad when he did not.

For he was a very formidable person. Imagine a man six feetthree inches in height, majestically built, with a high-nosed,aristocratic face, brindled hair, shaggy eyebrows, a small, pointedMephistophelian beard, and lines upon his brow and round his eyesas deep as if they had been carved with a penknife. He had greyeyes, weary, hopeless-looking eyes, proud and yet pathetic, eyeswhich claimed your pity and yet dared you to show it. His back wasrounded with study, but otherwise he was as fine a looking man ofhis age--five-and-fifty perhaps--as any woman would wish to lookupon.

But his presence was not a cheerful one. He was alwayscourteous, always refined, but singularly silent and retiring. Ihave never lived so long with any man and known so little of him.If he were indoors he spent his time either in his own small studyin the Eastern Tower, or in the library in the modern wing. Soregular was his routine that one could always say at any hourexactly where he would be. Twice in the day he would visit hisstudy, once after breakfast, and once about ten at night. Youmight set your watch by the slam of the heavy door. For the restof the day he would be in his library--save that for an hour or twoin the afternoon he would take a walk or a ride, which was solitarylike the rest of his existence. He loved his children, and waskeenly interested in the progress of their studies, but they werea little awed by the silent, shaggy-browed figure, and they avoidedhim as much as they could. Indeed, we all did that.

It was some time before I came to know anything about thecircumstances of Sir John Bollamore's life, for Mrs. Stevens, thehousekeeper, and Mr. Richards, the land-steward, were too loyal totalk easily of their employer's affairs. As to the governess, sheknew no more than I did, and our common interest was one of thecauses which drew us together. At last, however, an incidentoccurred which led to a closer acquaintance with Mr. Richards anda fuller knowledge of the life of the man whom I served.

The immediate cause of this was no less than the falling ofMaster Percy, the youngest of my pupils, into the mill-race, withimminent danger both to his life and to mine, since I had to riskmyself in order to save him. Dripping and exhausted--for Iwas far more spent than the child--I was making for my room whenSir John, who had heard the hubbub, opened the door of his littlestudy and asked me what was the matter. I told him of theaccident, but assured him that his child was in no danger, while helistened with a rugged, immobile face, which expressed in itsintense eyes and tightened lips all the emotion which he tried toconceal.

"One moment! Step in here! Let me have the details!" said he,turning back through the open door.

And so I found myself within that little sanctum, inside which,as I afterwards learned, no other foot had for three years been setsave that of the old servant who cleaned it out. It was a roundroom, conforming to the shape of the tower in which it wassituated, with a low ceiling, a single narrow, ivy-wreathed window,and the simplest of furniture. An old carpet, a single chair, adeal table, and a small shelf of books made up the whole contents.On the table stood a full-length photograph of a woman--I took noparticular notice of the features, but I remember, that a certaingracious gentleness was the prevailing impression. Beside it werea large black japanned box and one or two bundles of letters orpapers fastened together with elastic bands.

Our interview was a short one, for Sir John Bollamore perceivedthat I was soaked, and that I should change without delay. Theincident led, however, to an instructive talk with Richards, theagent, who had never penetrated into the chamber which chance hadopened to me. That very afternoon he came to me, all curiosity,and walked up and down the garden path with me, while my twocharges played tennis upon the lawn beside us.

"You hardly realize the exception which has been made in yourfavour," said he. "That room has been kept such a mystery, and SirJohn's visits to it have been so regular and consistent, that analmost superstitious feeling has arisen about it in the household.I assure you that if I were to repeat to you the tales which areflying about, tales of mysterious visitors there, and of voicesoverheard by the servants, you might suspect that Sir John hadrelapsed into his old ways."

"Why do you say relapsed?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise.

"Is it possible," said he, "that Sir John Bollamore's previoushistory is unknown to you?"

"Absolutely."

"You astound me. I thought that every man in England knewsomething of his antecedents. I should not mention the matter ifit were not that you are now one of ourselves, and that the factsmight come to your ears in some harsher form if I were silent uponthem. I always took it for granted that you knew that you were inthe service of 'Devil' Bollamore."

"But why 'Devil'?" I asked.

"Ah, you are young and the world moves fast, but twentyyears ago the name of 'Devil' Bollamore was one of the bestknown in London. He was the leader of the fastest set, bruiser,driver, gambler, drunkard--a survival of the old type, and as badas the worst of them."

I stared at him in amazement.

"What!" I cried, "that quiet, studious, sad-faced man?"

"The greatest rip and debauchee in England! All betweenourselves, Colmore. But you understand now what I mean when I saythat a woman's voice in his room might even now give rise tosuspicions."

"But what can have changed him so?"

"Little Beryl Clare, when she took the risk of becoming hiswife. That was the turning point. He had got so far that his ownfast set had thrown him over. There is a world of difference, youknow, between a man who drinks and a drunkard. They all drink, butthey taboo a drunkard. He had become a slave to it--hopeless andhelpless. Then she stepped in, saw the possibilities of a fine manin the wreck, took her chance in marrying him though she might havehad the pick of a dozen, and, by devoting her life to it, broughthim back to manhood and decency. You have observed that no liquoris ever kept in the house. There never has been any since her footcrossed its threshold. A drop of it would be like blood to a tigereven now."

"Then her influence still holds him?"

"That is the wonder of it. When she died three years ago, weall expected and feared that he would fall back into his old ways.She feared it herself, and the thought gave a terror to death, forshe was like a guardian angel to that man, and lived only forthe one purpose. By the way, did you see a black japanned box inhis room?"

"Yes."

"I fancy it contains her letters. If ever he has occasion tobe away, if only for a single night, he invariably takes his blackjapanned box with him. Well, well, Colmore, perhaps I have toldyou rather more than I should, but I shall expect you toreciprocate if anything of interest should come to your knowledge."

I could see that the worthy man was consumed with curiosity andjust a little piqued that I, the newcomer, should have been thefirst to penetrate into the untrodden chamber. But the fact raisedme in his esteem, and from that time onwards I found myself uponmore confidential terms with him.

And now the silent and majestic figure of my employer became anobject of greater interest to me. I began to understand thatstrangely human look in his eyes, those deep lines upon his care-wornface. He was a man who was fighting a ceaseless battle,holding at arm's length, from morning till night, a horribleadversary who was forever trying to close with him--an adversarywhich would destroy him body and soul could it but fix its clawsonce more upon him. As I watched the grim, round-backed figurepacing the corridor or walking in the garden, this imminent dangerseemed to take bodily shape, and I could almost fancy that I sawthis most loathsome and dangerous of all the fiends crouchingclosely in his very shadow, like a half-cowed beast which slinksbeside its keeper, ready at any unguarded moment to spring at histhroat. And the dead woman, the woman who had spent her life inwarding off this danger, took shape also to my imagination, and Isaw her as a shadowy but beautiful presence which intervened forever with arms uplifted to screen the man whom she loved.

In some subtle way he divined the sympathy which I had for him,and he showed in his own silent fashion that he appreciated it. Heeven invited me once to share his afternoon walk, and although noword passed between us on this occasion, it was a mark ofconfidence which he had never shown to anyone before. He asked mealso to index his library (it was one of the best private librariesin England), and I spent many hours in the evening in hispresence, if not in his society, he reading at his desk and Isitting in a recess by the window reducing to order the chaos whichexisted among his books. In spite of these close relations I wasnever again asked to enter the chamber in the turret.

And then came my revulsion of feeling. A single incidentchanged all my sympathy to loathing, and made me realize that myemployer still remained all that he had ever been, with theadditional vice of hypocrisy. What happened was as follows.

One evening Miss Witherton had gone down to Broadway, theneighbouring village, to sing at a concert for some charity, and I,according to my promise, had walked over to escort her back. Thedrive sweeps round under the eastern turret, and I observed as Ipassed that the light was lit in the circular room. It was asummer evening, and the window, which was a little higher than ourheads, was open. We were, as it happened, engrossed in our ownconversation at the moment and we had paused upon the lawn whichskirts the old turret, when suddenly something broke in upon ourtalk and turned our thoughts away from our own affairs.

It was a voice--the voice undoubtedly of a woman. It was low--solow that it was only in that still night air that we could haveheard it, but, hushed as it was, there was no mistaking itsfeminine timbre. It spoke hurriedly, gaspingly for a fewsentences, and then was silent--a piteous, breathless, imploringsort of voice. Miss Witherton and I stood for an instant staringat each other. Then we walked quickly in the direction of thehall-door.

"It came through the window," I said.

"We must not play the part of eavesdroppers," she answered."We must forget that we have ever heard it."

There was an absence of surprise in her manner which suggesteda new idea to me.

"You have heard it before," I cried.

"I could not help it. My own room is higher up on the sameturret. It has happened frequently."

"Who can the woman be?"

"I have no idea. I had rather not discuss it."

Her voice was enough to show me what she thought. But grantingthat our employer led a double and dubious life, who could she be,this mysterious woman who kept him company in the old tower?I knew from my own inspection how bleak and bare a room it was.She certainly did not live there. But in that case where did shecome from? It could not be anyone of the household. They were allunder the vigilant eyes of Mrs. Stevens. The visitor must comefrom without. But how?

And then suddenly I remembered how ancient this building was,and how probable that some mediaeval passage existed in it. Thereis hardly an old castle without one. The mysterious room was thebasement of the turret, so that if there were anything of the sortit would open through the floor. There were numerous cottages inthe immediate vicinity. The other end of the secret passage mightlie among some tangle of bramble in the neighbouring copse. I saidnothing to anyone, but I felt that the secret of my employer laywithin my power.

And the more convinced I was of this the more I marvelled atthe manner in which he concealed his true nature. Often as Iwatched his austere figure, I asked myself if it were indeedpossible that such a man should be living this double life, and Itried to persuade myself that my suspicions might after all proveto be ill-founded. But there was the female voice, there was thesecret nightly rendezvous in the turret-chamber--how could suchfacts admit of an innocent interpretation. I conceived a horror ofthe man. I was filled with loathing at his deep, consistenthypocrisy.

Only once during all those months did I ever see him withoutthat sad but impassive mask which he usually presented towards hisfellow-man. For an instant I caught a glimpse of those volcanicfires which he had damped down so long. The occasion was anunworthy one, for the object of his wrath was none other than theaged charwoman whom I have already mentioned as being the oneperson who was allowed within his mysterious chamber. I waspassing the corridor which led to the turret--for my own room layin that direction--when I heard a sudden, startled scream, andmerged in it the husky, growling note of a man who is inarticulatewith passion. It was the snarl of a furious wild beast. Then Iheard his voice thrilling with anger. "You would dare!" he cried."You would dare to disobey my directions!" An instant later thecharwoman passed me, flying down the passage, white-faced andtremulous, while the terrible voice thundered behind her. "Go toMrs. Stevens for your money! Never set foot in Thorpe Placeagain!" Consumed with curiosity, I could not help following thewoman, and found her round the corner leaning against the wall andpalpitating like a frightened rabbit.

"Done, sir! Nothing. At least nothing to make so much of.Just laid my 'and on that black box of 'is--'adn't even opened it,when in 'e came and you 'eard the way 'e went on. I've lost myplace, and glad I am of it, for I would never trust myself withinreach of 'im again."

So it was the japanned box which was the cause of thisoutburst--the box from which he would never permit himself to beseparated. What was the connection, or was there any connectionbetween this and the secret visits of the lady whose voice I hadoverheard? Sir John Bollamore's wrath was enduring as well asfiery, for from that day Mrs. Brown, the charwoman, vanished fromour ken, and Thorpe Place knew her no more.

And now I wish to tell you the singular chance which solved allthese strange questions and put my employer's secret in mypossession. The story may leave you with some lingering doubts asto whether my curiosity did not get the better of my honour, andwhether I did not condescend to play the spy. If you choose tothink so I cannot help it, but can only assure you that, improbableas it may appear, the matter came about exactly as I describe it.

The first stage in this denouement was that the small roomin the turret became uninhabitable. This occurred through the fallof the worm-eaten oaken beam which supported the ceiling. Rottenwith age, it snapped in the middle one morning, and brought down aquantity of plaster with it. Fortunately Sir John was not in theroom at the time. His precious box was rescued from amongst thedebris and brought into the library, where, henceforward, it waslocked within his bureau. Sir John took no steps to repair thedamage, and I never had an opportunity of searching for that secretpassage, the existence of which I had surmised. As to the lady, Ihad thought that this would have brought her visits to an end, hadI not one evening heard Mr. Richards asking Mrs. Stevens who thewoman was whom he had overheard talking to Sir John in the library.I could not catch her reply, but I saw from her manner that it wasnot the first time that she had had to answer or avoid the samequestion.

"You've heard the voice, Colmore?" said the agent.

I confessed that I had.

"And what do YOU think of it?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and remarked that it was no businessof mine.

"Come, come, you are just as curious as any of us. Is it awoman or not?"

"It is certainly a woman."

"Which room did you hear it from?"

"From the turret-room, before the ceiling fell."

"But I heard it from the library only last night. I passed thedoors as I was going to bed, and I heard something wailing andpraying just as plainly as I hear you. It may be a woman----"

"Why, what else COULD it be?"

He looked at me hard.

"There are more things in heaven and earth," said he. "If itis a woman, how does she get there?"

"I don't know."

"No, nor I. But if it is the other thing--but there, for apractical business man at the end of the nineteenth century this israther a ridiculous line of conversation." He turned away, but Isaw that he felt even more than he had said. To all the old ghoststories of Thorpe Place a new one was being added before our veryeyes. It may by this time have taken its permanent place, forthough an explanation came to me, it never reached the others.

And my explanation came in this way. I had suffered asleepless night from neuralgia, and about midday I had taken aheavy dose of chlorodyne to alleviate the pain. At that time I wasfinishing the indexing of Sir John Bollamore's library, and it wasmy custom to work there from five till seven. On this particularday I struggled against the double effect of my bad night and thenarcotic. I have already mentioned that there was a recess in thelibrary, and in this it was my habit to work. I settled downsteadily to my task, but my weariness overcame me and, fallingback upon the settee, I dropped into a heavy sleep.

How long I slept I do not know, but it was quite dark when Iawoke. Confused by the chlorodyne which I had taken, I laymotionless in a semi-conscious state. The great room with its highwalls covered with books loomed darkly all round me. A dimradiance from the moonlight came through the farther window, andagainst this lighter background I saw that Sir John Bollamore wassitting at his study table. His well-set head and clearly cutprofile were sharply outlined against the glimmering square behindhim. He bent as I watched him, and I heard the sharp turning of akey and the rasping of metal upon metal. As if in a dream I wasvaguely conscious that this was the japanned box which stood infront of him, and that he had drawn something out of it, somethingsquat and uncouth, which now lay before him upon the table. Inever realized--it never occurred to my bemuddled and torpid brainthat I was intruding upon his privacy, that he imagined himself tobe alone in the room. And then, just as it rushed upon myhorrified perceptions, and I had half risen to announce mypresence, I heard a strange, crisp, metallic clicking, and then thevoice.

Yes, it was a woman's voice; there could not be a doubt of it.But a voice so charged with entreaty and with yearning love, thatit will ring for ever in my ears. It came with a curious farawaytinkle, but every word was clear, though faint--very faint, forthey were the last words of a dying woman.

"I am not really gone, John," said the thin, gasping voice. "Iam here at your very elbow, and shall be until we meet once more.I die happy to think that morning and night you will hear my voice.Oh, John, be strong, be strong, until we meet again."

I say that I had risen in order to announce my presence, but Icould not do so while the voice was sounding. I could only remainhalf lying, half sitting, paralysed, astounded, listening to thoseyearning distant musical words. And he--he was so absorbed thateven if I had spoken he might not have heard me. But with thesilence of the voice came my half articulated apologies andexplanations. He sprang across the room, switched on the electriclight, and in its white glare I saw him, his eyes gleamingwith anger, his face twisted with passion, as the haplesscharwoman may have seen him weeks before.

"Mr. Colmore!" he cried. "You here! What is the meaning ofthis, sir?"

With halting words I explained it all, my neuralgia, thenarcotic, my luckless sleep and singular awakening. As he listenedthe glow of anger faded from his face, and the sad, impassive maskclosed once more over his features.

"My secret is yours, Mr. Colmore," said he. "I have onlymyself to blame for relaxing my precautions. Half confidences areworse than no confidences, and so you may know all since you knowso much. The story may go where you will when I have passed away,but until then I rely upon your sense of honour that no human soulshall hear it from your lips. I am proud still--God help me!--or,at least, I am proud enough to resent that pity which this storywould draw upon me. I have smiled at envy, and disregarded hatred,but pity is more than I can tolerate.

"You have heard the source from which the voice comes--thatvoice which has, as I understand, excited so much curiosity in myhousehold. I am aware of the rumours to which it has given rise.These speculations, whether scandalous or superstitious, are suchas I can disregard and forgive. What I should never forgive wouldbe a disloyal spying and eavesdropping in order to satisfy anillicit curiosity. But of that, Mr. Colmore, I acquit you.

"When I was a young man, sir, many years younger than you arenow, I was launched upon town without a friend or adviser, and witha purse which brought only too many false friends and falseadvisers to my side. I drank deeply of the wine of life--if thereis a man living who has drunk more deeply he is not a man whom Ienvy. My purse suffered, my character suffered, my constitutionsuffered, stimulants became a necessity to me, I was a creaturefrom whom my memory recoils. And it was at that time, the time ofmy blackest degradation, that God sent into my life the gentlest,sweetest spirit that ever descended as a ministering angel fromabove. She loved me, broken as I was, loved me, and spent her lifein making a man once more of that which had degraded itself to thelevel of the beasts.

"But a fell disease struck her, and she withered away beforemy eyes. In the hour of her agony it was never of herself, ofher own sufferings and her own death that she thought. It was allof me. The one pang which her fate brought to her was the fearthat when her influence was removed I should revert to that whichI had been. It was in vain that I made oath to her that no drop ofwine would ever cross my lips. She knew only too well the holdthat the devil had upon me--she who had striven so to loosen it--andit haunted her night and day the thought that my soul mightagain be within his grip.

"It was from some friend's gossip of the sick room that sheheard of this invention--this phonograph--and with the quickinsight of a loving woman she saw how she might use it for herends. She sent me to London to procure the best which money couldbuy. With her dying breath she gasped into it the words which haveheld me straight ever since. Lonely and broken, what else have Iin all the world to uphold me? But it is enough. Please God, Ishall face her without shame when He is pleased to reunite us!That is my secret, Mr. Colmore, and whilst I live I leave it inyour keeping."

The Black Doctor

Bishop's Crossing is a small village lying ten miles in a south-westerlydirection from Liverpool. Here in the early seventies there settleda doctor named Aloysius Lana. Nothing was known locally either ofhis antecedents or of the reasons which had prompted him to come tothis Lancashire hamlet. Two facts only were certain about him; theone that he had gained his medical qualification with some distinctionat Glasgow; the other that he came undoubtedly of a tropical race,and was so dark that he might almost have had a strain of the Indianin his composition. His predominant features were, however, European, andhe possessed a stately courtesy and carriage which suggested aSpanish extraction. A swarthy skin, raven-black hair, and dark,sparkling eyes under a pair of heavily-tufted brows made astrange contrast to the flaxen or chestnut rustics of England,and the newcomer was soon known as "The Black Doctor of Bishop'sCrossing." At first it was a term of ridicule and reproach; asthe years went on it became a title of honour which was familiarto the whole countryside, and extended far beyond the narrowconfines of the village.

For the newcomer proved himself to be a capable surgeon and anaccomplished physician. The practice of that district had been inthe hands of Edward Rowe, the son of Sir William Rowe, theLiverpool consultant, but he had not inherited the talents of hisfather, and Dr. Lana, with his advantages of presence and ofmanner, soon beat him out of the field. Dr. Lana's social successwas as rapid as his professional. A remarkable surgical cure inthe case of the Hon. James Lowry, the second son of Lord Belton,was the means of introducing him to county society, where he becamea favourite through the charm of his conversation and the eleganceof his manners. An absence of antecedents and of relatives issometimes an aid rather than an impediment to social advancement,and the distinguished individuality of the handsome doctor was itsown recommendation.

His patients had one fault--and one fault only--to find withhim. He appeared to be a confirmed bachelor. This was the moreremarkable since the house which he occupied was a large one, andit was known that his success in practice had enabled him to saveconsiderable sums. At first the local matchmakers were continuallycoupling his name with one or other of the eligible ladies, but asyears passed and Dr. Lana remained unmarried, it came to begenerally understood that for some reason he must remain abachelor. Some even went so far as to assert that he was alreadymarried, and that it was in order to escape the consequence of anearly misalliance that he had buried himself at Bishop's Crossing.And, then, just as the matchmakers had finally given him up indespair, his engagement was suddenly announced to Miss FrancesMorton, of Leigh Hall.

Miss Morton was a young lady who was well known upon thecountry-side, her father, James Haldane Morton, having been theSquire of Bishop's Crossing. Both her parents were, however, dead,and she lived with her only brother, Arthur Morton, who hadinherited the family estate. In person Miss Morton was tall andstately, and she was famous for her quick, impetuous nature and forher strength of character. She met Dr. Lana at a garden-party, anda friendship, which quickly ripened into love, sprang up betweenthem. Nothing could exceed their devotion to each other. Therewas some discrepancy in age, he being thirty-seven, and she twenty-four;but, save in that one respect, there was no possibleobjection to be found with the match. The engagement was inFebruary, and it was arranged that the marriage should take placein August.

Upon the 3rd of June Dr. Lana received a letter from abroad.In a small village the postmaster is also in a position to be thegossip-master, and Mr. Bankley, of Bishop's Crossing, had many ofthe secrets of his neighbours in his possession. Of thisparticular letter he remarked only that it was in a curiousenvelope, that it was in a man's handwriting, that the postscriptwas Buenos Ayres, and the stamp of the Argentine Republic. It wasthe first letter which he had ever known Dr. Lana to have fromabroad and this was the reason why his attention was particularlycalled to it before he handed it to the local postman. It wasdelivered by the evening delivery of that date.

Next morning--that is, upon the 4th of June--Dr. Lana calledupon Miss Morton, and a long interview followed, from which he wasobserved to return in a state of great agitation. Miss Mortonremained in her room all that day, and her maid found her severaltimes in tears. In the course of a week it was an open secret tothe whole village that the engagement was at an end, that Dr. Lanahad behaved shamefully to the young lady, and that Arthur Morton,her brother, was talking of horse-whipping him. In what particularrespect the doctor had behaved badly was unknown--some surmised onething and some another; but it was observed, and taken as theobvious sign of a guilty conscience, that he would go for milesround rather than pass the windows of Leigh Hall, and that he gaveup attending morning service upon Sundays where he might have metthe young lady. There was an advertisement also in the Lancetas to the sale of a practice which mentioned no names, but whichwas thought by some to refer to Bishop's Crossing, and to mean thatDr. Lana was thinking of abandoning the scene of his success. Suchwas the position of affairs when, upon the evening of Monday, June21st, there came a fresh development which changed what had been amere village scandal into a tragedy which arrested the attention ofthe whole nation. Some detail is necessary to cause the facts ofthat evening to present their full significance.

The sole occupants of the doctor's house were his housekeeper,an elderly and most respectable woman, named Martha Woods, and ayoung servant--Mary Pilling. The coachman and the surgery-boyslept out. It was the custom of the doctor to sit at night in hisstudy, which was next the surgery in the wing of the house whichwas farthest from the servants' quarters. This side of the househad a door of its own for the convenience of patients, so that itwas possible for the doctor to admit and receive a visitor therewithout the knowledge of anyone. As a matter of fact, whenpatients came late it was quite usual for him to let them in andout by the surgery entrance, for the maid and the housekeeper werein the habit of retiring early.

On this particular night Martha Woods went into the doctor'sstudy at half-past nine, and found him writing at his desk. Shebade him good night, sent the maid to bed, and then occupiedherself until a quarter to eleven in household matters. It wasstriking eleven upon the hall clock when she went to her own room.She had been there about a quarter of an hour or twenty minuteswhen she heard a cry or call, which appeared to come from withinthe house. She waited some time, but it was not repeated. Muchalarmed, for the sound was loud and urgent, she put on a dressing-gown,and ran at the top of her speed to the doctor's study.

"Who's there?" cried a voice, as she tapped at the door.

"I am here, sir--Mrs. Woods."

"I beg that you will leave me in peace. Go back to your roomthis instant!" cried the voice, which was, to the best of herbelief, that of her master. The tone was so harsh and so unlikeher master's usual manner, that she was surprised and hurt.

"I thought I heard you calling, sir," she explained, but noanswer was given to her. Mrs. Woods looked at the clock as shereturned to her room, and it was then half-past eleven.

At some period between eleven and twelve (she could not bepositive as to the exact hour) a patient called upon the doctor andwas unable to get any reply from him. This late visitor was Mrs.Madding, the wife of the village grocer, who was dangerously ill oftyphoid fever. Dr. Lana had asked her to look in the last thingand let him know how her husband was progressing. She observedthat the light was burning in the study, but having knocked severaltimes at the surgery door without response, she concluded that thedoctor had been called out, and so returned home.

There is a short, winding drive with a lamp at the end of itleading down from the house to the road. As Mrs. Madding emergedfrom the gate a man was coming along the footpath. Thinking thatit might be Dr. Lana returning from some professional visit, shewaited for him, and was surprised to see that it was Mr. ArthurMorton, the young squire. In the light of the lamp she observedthat his manner was excited, and that he carried in his hand aheavy hunting-crop. He was turning in at the gate when sheaddressed him.

"The doctor is not in, sir," said she.

"How do you know that?" he asked harshly.

"I have been to the surgery door, sir."

"I see a light," said the young squire, looking up the drive."That is in his study, is it not?"

"Yes, sir; but I am sure that he is out."

"Well, he must come in again," said young Morton, and passedthrough the gate while Mrs. Madding went upon her homeward way.

At three o'clock that morning her husband suffered a sharprelapse, and she was so alarmed by his symptoms that she determinedto call the doctor without delay. As she passed through the gateshe was surprised to see someone lurking among the laurel bushes.It was certainly a man, and to the best of her belief Mr. ArthurMorton. Preoccupied with her own troubles, she gave no particularattention to the incident, but hurried on upon her errand.

When she reached the house she perceived to her surprise thatthe light was still burning in the study. She therefore tapped atthe surgery door. There was no answer. She repeated the knockingseveral times without effect. It appeared to her to be unlikelythat the doctor would either go to bed or go out leaving sobrilliant a light behind him, and it struck Mrs. Madding that itwas possible that he might have dropped asleep in his chair. Shetapped at the study window, therefore, but without result. Then,finding that there was an opening between the curtain and thewoodwork, she looked through.

The small room was brilliantly lighted from a large lamp on thecentral table, which was littered with the doctor's books andinstruments. No one was visible, nor did she see anything unusual,except that in the farther shadow thrown by the table a dingy whiteglove was lying upon the carpet. And then suddenly, as her eyesbecame more accustomed to the light, a boot emerged from the otherend of the shadow, and she realized, with a thrill of horror, thatwhat she had taken to be a glove was the hand of a man, who wasprostrate upon the floor. Understanding that something terriblehad occurred, she rang at the front door, roused Mrs. Woods, thehousekeeper, and the two women made their way into the study,having first dispatched the maidservant to the police-station.

At the side of the table, away from the window, Dr. Lana wasdiscovered stretched upon his back and quite dead. It wasevident that he had been subjected to violence, for one of his eyeswas blackened and there were marks of bruises about his face andneck. A slight thickening and swelling of his features appeared tosuggest that the cause of his death had been strangulation. He wasdressed in his usual professional clothes, but wore cloth slippers,the soles of which were perfectly clean. The carpet was marked allover, especially on the side of the door, with traces of dirtyboots, which were presumably left by the murderer. It was evidentthat someone had entered by the surgery door, had killed thedoctor, and had then made his escape unseen. That the assailantwas a man was certain, from the size of the footprints and from thenature of the injuries. But beyond that point the police found itvery difficult to go.

There were no signs of robbery, and the doctor's gold watch wassafe in his pocket. He kept a heavy cash-box in the room, and thiswas discovered to be locked but empty. Mrs. Woods had animpression that a large sum was usually kept there, but the doctorhad paid a heavy corn bill in cash only that very day, and it wasconjectured that it was to this and not to a robber that theemptiness of the box was due. One thing in the room was missing--butthat one thing was suggestive. The portrait of Miss Morton,which had always stood upon the side-table, had been taken from itsframe, and carried off. Mrs. Woods had observed it there when shewaited upon her employer that evening, and now it was gone. On theother hand, there was picked up from the floor a green eye-patch,which the housekeeper could not remember to have seen before. Sucha patch might, however, be in the possession of a doctor, and therewas nothing to indicate that it was in any way connected with thecrime.

Suspicion could only turn in one direction, and Arthur Morton, the youngsquire, was immediately arrested. The evidence against him wascircumstantial, but damning. He was devoted to his sister, and it wasshown that since the rupture between her and Dr. Lana he had been heardagain and again to express himself in the most vindictive terms towardsher former lover. He had, as stated, been seen somewhere about eleveno'clock entering the doctor's drive with a hunting-crop in his hand. Hehad then, according to the theory of the police, broken in upon thedoctor, whose exclamation of fear or of anger had been loud enough toattract the attention of Mrs. Woods. When Mrs. Woods descended, Dr. Lanahad made up his mind to talk it over with his visitor, and had,therefore, sent his housekeeper back to her room. This conversation hadlasted a long time, had become more and more fiery, and had ended by apersonal struggle, in which the doctor lost his life. The fact, revealedby a post-mortem, that his heart was much diseased--an ailment quiteunsuspected during his life--would make it possible that death might inhis case ensue from injuries which would not be fatal to a healthy man.Arthur Morton had then removed his sister's photograph, and had made hisway homeward, stepping aside into the laurel bushes to avoid Mrs.Madding at the gate. This was the theory of the prosecution, and thecase which they presented was a formidable one.

On the other hand, there were some strong points for thedefence. Morton was high-spirited and impetuous, like his sister,but he was respected and liked by everyone, and his frank andhonest nature seemed to be incapable of such a crime. His ownexplanation was that he was anxious to have a conversation with Dr.Lana about some urgent family matters (from first to last herefused even to mention the name of his sister). He did notattempt to deny that this conversation would probably have been ofan unpleasant nature. He had heard from a patient that the doctorwas out, and he therefore waited until about three in the morningfor his return, but as he had seen nothing of him up to that hour,he had given it up and had returned home. As to his death, he knewno more about it than the constable who arrested him. He hadformerly been an intimate friend of the deceased man; butcircumstances, which he would prefer not to mention, had broughtabout a change in his sentiments.

There were several facts which supported his innocence. It wascertain that Dr. Lana was alive and in his study at half-pasteleven o'clock. Mrs. Woods was prepared to swear that it was atthat hour that she had heard his voice. The friends of theprisoner contended that it was probable that at that time Dr. Lanawas not alone. The sound which had originally attracted theattention of the housekeeper, and her master's unusual impatiencethat she should leave him in peace, seemed to point to that. Ifthis were so then it appeared to be probable that he had methis end between the moment when the housekeeper heard his voice andthe time when Mrs. Madding made her first call and found itimpossible to attract his attention. But if this were the time ofhis death, then it was certain that Mr. Arthur Morton could not beguilty, as it was AFTER this that she had met the young squireat the gate.

If this hypothesis were correct, and someone was with Dr. Lanabefore Mrs. Madding met Mr. Arthur Morton, then who was thissomeone, and what motives had he for wishing evil to the doctor?It was universally admitted that if the friends of the accusedcould throw light upon this, they would have gone a long waytowards establishing his innocence. But in the meanwhile it wasopen to the public to say--as they did say--that there was no proofthat anyone had been there at all except the young squire; while,on the other hand, there was ample proof that his motives in goingwere of a sinister kind. When Mrs. Madding called, the doctormight have retired to his room, or he might, as she thought at thetime, have gone out and returned afterwards to find Mr. ArthurMorton waiting for him. Some of the supporters of the accused laidstress upon the fact that the photograph of his sister Frances,which had been removed from the doctor's room, had not been foundin her brother's possession. This argument, however, did not countfor much, as he had ample time before his arrest to burn it or todestroy it. As to the only positive evidence in the case--themuddy footmarks upon the floor--they were so blurred by thesoftness of the carpet that it was impossible to make anytrustworthy deduction from them. The most that could be said wasthat their appearance was not inconsistent with the theory thatthey were made by the accused, and it was further shown that hisboots were very muddy upon that night. There had been a heavyshower in the afternoon, and all boots were probably in the samecondition.

Such is a bald statement of the singular and romantic series ofevents which centred public attention upon this Lancashire tragedy.The unknown origin of the doctor, his curious and distinguishedpersonality, the position of the man who was accused of the murder,and the love affair which had preceded the crimes all combined tomake the affair one of those dramas which absorb the wholeinterest of a nation. Throughout the three kingdoms men discussedthe case of the Black Doctor of Bishop's Crossing, and many werethe theories put forward to explain the facts; but it may safely besaid that among them all there was not one which prepared the mindsof the public for the extraordinary sequel, which caused so muchexcitement upon the first day of the trial, and came to a climaxupon the second. The long files of the Lancaster Weekly withtheir report of the case lie before me as I write, but I mustcontent myself with a synopsis of the case up to the point when,upon the evening of the first day, the evidence of Miss FrancesMorton threw a singular light upon the case.

Mr. Porlock Carr, the counsel for the prosecution, hadmarshalled his facts with his usual skill, and as the day wore on,it became more and more evident how difficult was the task whichMr. Humphrey, who had been retained for the defence, had beforehim. Several witnesses were put up to swear to the intemperateexpressions which the young squire had been heard to utter aboutthe doctor, and the fiery manner in which he resented the allegedill-treatment of his sister. Mrs. Madding repeated her evidence asto the visit which had been paid late at night by the prisoner tothe deceased, and it was shown by another witness that the prisonerwas aware that the doctor was in the habit of sitting up alone inthis isolated wing of the house, and that he had chosen this verylate hour to call because he knew that his victim would then be athis mercy. A servant at the squire's house was compelled to admitthat he had heard his master return about three that morning, whichcorroborated Mrs. Madding's statement that she had seen him amongthe laurel bushes near the gate upon the occasion of her secondvisit. The muddy boots and an alleged similarity in the footprintswere duly dwelt upon, and it was felt when the case for theprosecution had been presented that, however circumstantial itmight be, it was none the less so complete and so convincing, thatthe fate of the prisoner was sealed, unless something quiteunexpected should be disclosed by the defence. It was threeo'clock when the prosecution closed. At half-past four, when thecourt rose, a new and unlooked-for development had occurred. Iextract the incident, or part of it, from the journal which I havealready mentioned, omitting the preliminary observations of thecounsel.

Considerable sensation was caused in the crowded court when thefirst witness called for the defence proved to be Miss FrancesMorton, the sister of the prisoner. Our readers will remember thatthe young lady had been engaged to Dr. Lana, and that it was hisanger over the sudden termination of this engagement which wasthought to have driven her brother to the perpetration of thiscrime. Miss Morton had not, however, been directly implicated inthe case in any way, either at the inquest or at the police-courtproceedings, and her appearance as the leading witness for thedefence came as a surprise upon the public.

Miss Frances Morton, who was a tall and handsome brunette, gaveher evidence in a low but clear voice, though it was evidentthroughout that she was suffering from extreme emotion. Shealluded to her engagement to the doctor, touched briefly upon itstermination, which was due, she said, to personal matters connectedwith his family, and surprised the court by asserting that she hadalways considered her brother's resentment to be unreasonable andintemperate. In answer to a direct question from her counsel, shereplied that she did not feel that she had any grievance whateveragainst Dr. Lana, and that in her opinion he had acted in aperfectly honourable manner. Her brother, on an insufficientknowledge of the facts, had taken another view, and she wascompelled to acknowledge that, in spite of her entreaties, he haduttered threats of personal violence against the doctor, and had,upon the evening of the tragedy, announced his intention of "havingit out with him." She had done her best to bring him to a morereasonable frame of mind, but he was very headstrong where hisemotions or prejudices were concerned.

Up to this point the young lady's evidence had appeared to makeagainst the prisoner rather than in his favour. The questions ofher counsel, however, soon put a very different light upon thematter, and disclosed an unexpected line of defence.

Mr. Humphrey: Do you believe your brother to be guilty of thiscrime?

The Judge: I cannot permit that question, Mr. Humphrey. Weare here to decide upon questions of fact--not of belief.

Mr. Humphrey: Do you know that your brother is not guilty ofthe death of Doctor Lana?

Miss Morton: Yes.

Mr. Humphrey: How do you know it?

Miss Morton: Because Dr. Lana is not dead.

There followed a prolonged sensation in court, whichinterrupted the examination of the witness.

Mr. Humphrey: And how do you know, Miss Morton, that Dr. Lanais not dead?

Miss Morton: Because I have received a letter from him sincethe date of his supposed death.

Mr. Humphrey: Have you this letter?

Miss Morton: Yes, but I should prefer not to show it.

Mr. Humphrey: Have you the envelope?

Miss Morton: Yes, it is here.

Mr. Humphrey: What is the post-mark?

Miss Morton: Liverpool.

Mr. Humphrey: And the date?

Miss Morton: June the 22nd.

Mr. Humphrey: That being the day after his alleged death. Areyou prepared to swear to this handwriting, Miss Morton?

Miss Morton: Certainly.

Mr. Humphrey: I am prepared to call six other witnesses, mylord, to testify that this letter is in the writing of Doctor Lana.

The Judge: Then you must call them tomorrow.

Mr. Porlock Carr (counsel for the prosecution): In themeantime, my lord, we claim possession of this document, so that wemay obtain expert evidence as to how far it is an imitation of thehandwriting of the gentleman whom we still confidently assert to bedeceased. I need not point out that the theory so unexpectedlysprung upon us may prove to be a very obvious device adopted by thefriends of the prisoner in order to divert this inquiry. I woulddraw attention to the fact that the young lady must, according toher own account, have possessed this letter during the proceedingsat the inquest and at the police-court. She desires us to believethat she permitted these to proceed, although she held in herpocket evidence which would at any moment have brought them to anend.

Mr. Humphrey. Can you explain this, Miss Morton?

Miss Morton: Dr. Lana desired his secret to be preserved.

Mr. Porlock Carr: Then why have you made this public?

Miss Morton: To save my brother.

A murmur of sympathy broke out in court, which was instantlysuppressed by the Judge.

The Judge: Admitting this line of defence, it lies with you,Mr. Humphrey, to throw a light upon who this man is whose body hasbeen recognized by so many friends and patients of Dr. Lana asbeing that of the doctor himself.

A Juryman: Has anyone up to now expressed any doubt about thematter?

Mr. Porlock Carr: Not to my knowledge.

Mr. Humphrey: We hope to make the matter clear.

The Judge: Then the court adjourns until tomorrow.

This new development of the case excited the utmost interestamong the general public. Press comment was prevented by the factthat the trial was still undecided, but the question was everywhereargued as to how far there could be truth in Miss Morton'sdeclaration, and how far it might be a daring ruse for the purposeof saving her brother. The obvious dilemma in which the missingdoctor stood was that if by any extraordinary chance he was notdead, then he must be held responsible for the death of thisunknown man, who resembled him so exactly, and who was found in hisstudy. This letter which Miss Morton refused to produce waspossibly a confession of guilt, and she might find herself in theterrible position of only being able to save her brother from thegallows by the sacrifice of her former lover. The court nextmorning was crammed to overflowing, and a murmur of excitementpassed over it when Mr. Humphrey was observed to enter in a stateof emotion, which even his trained nerves could not conceal, and toconfer with the opposing counsel. A few hurried words--words whichleft a look of amazement upon Mr. Porlock Carr's face--passedbetween them, and then the counsel for the defence, addressing theJudge, announced that, with the consent of the prosecution, theyoung lady who had given evidence upon the sitting before would notbe recalled.

The Judge: But you appear, Mr. Humphrey, to have left mattersin a very unsatisfactory state.

Mr. Humphrey: Perhaps, my lord, my next witness may help toclear them up.

The Judge: Then call your next witness.

Mr. Humphrey: I call Dr. Aloysius Lana.

The learned counsel has made many telling remarks in his day,but he has certainly never produced such a sensation with so shorta sentence. The court was simply stunned with amazement as thevery man whose fate had been the subject of so much contentionappeared bodily before them in the witness-box. Those among thespectators who had known him at Bishop's Crossing saw him now,gaunt and thin, with deep lines of care upon his face. But inspite of his melancholy bearing and despondent expression, therewere few who could say that they had ever seen a man of moredistinguished presence. Bowing to the judge, he asked if he mightbe allowed to make a statement, and having been duly informed thatwhatever he said might be used against him, he bowed once more, andproceeded:

"My wish," said he, "is to hold nothing back, but to tell withperfect frankness all that occurred upon the night of the 21st ofJune. Had I known that the innocent had suffered, and that so muchtrouble had been brought upon those whom I love best in the world,I should have come forward long ago; but there were reasons whichprevented these things from coming to my ears. It was my desirethat an unhappy man should vanish from the world which had knownhim, but I had not foreseen that others would be affected by myactions. Let me to the best of my ability repair the evil which Ihave done.

"To anyone who is acquainted with the history of the ArgentineRepublic the name of Lana is well known. My father, who came ofthe best blood of old Spain, filled all the highest offices of theState, and would have been President but for his death in the riotsof San Juan. A brilliant career might have been open to my twinbrother Ernest and myself had it not been for financial losseswhich made it necessary that we should earn our own living. Iapologize, sir, if these details appear to be irrelevant, but theyare a necessary introduction to that which is to follow.

"I had, as I have said, a twin brother named Ernest, whose resemblanceto me was so great that even when we were together people could see nodifference between us. Down to the smallest detail we were exactly thesame. As we grew older this likeness became less marked because ourexpression was not the same, but with our features in repose the pointsof difference were very slight.

"It does not become me to say too much of one who is dead, themore so as he is my only brother, but I leave his character tothose who knew him best. I will only say--for I HAVE to sayit--that in my early manhood I conceived a horror of him, and thatI had good reason for the aversion which filled me. My ownreputation suffered from his actions, for our close resemblancecaused me to be credited with many of them. Eventually, in apeculiarly disgraceful business, he contrived to throw the wholeodium upon me in such a way that I was forced to leave theArgentine for ever, and to seek a career in Europe. The freedomfrom his hated presence more than compensated me for the loss of mynative land. I had enough money to defray my medical studies atGlasgow, and I finally settled in practice at Bishop's Crossing, inthe firm conviction that in that remote Lancashire hamlet I shouldnever hear of him again.

"For years my hopes were fulfilled, and then at last hediscovered me. Some Liverpool man who visited Buenos Ayres put himupon my track. He had lost all his money, and he thought that hewould come over and share mine. Knowing my horror of him, herightly thought that I would be willing to buy him off. I receiveda letter from him saying that he was coming. It was at a crisis inmy own affairs, and his arrival might conceivably bring trouble,and even disgrace, upon some whom I was especially bound to shieldfrom anything of the kind. I took steps to insure that any evilwhich might come should fall on me only, and that"--here he turnedand looked at the prisoner--"was the cause of conduct upon my partwhich has been too harshly judged. My only motive was to screenthose who were dear to me from any possible connection with scandalor disgrace. That scandal and disgrace would come with my brotherwas only to say that what had been would be again.

"My brother arrived himself one night not very long after myreceipt of the letter. I was sitting in my study after theservants had gone to bed, when I heard a footstep upon the graveloutside, and an instant later I saw his face looking in at methrough the window. He was a clean-shaven man like myself,and the resemblance between us was still so great that, for aninstant, I thought it was my own reflection in the glass. He hada dark patch over his eye, but our features were absolutely thesame. Then he smiled in a sardonic way which had been a trick ofhis from his boyhood, and I knew that he was the same brother whohad driven me from my native land, and brought disgrace upon whathad been an honourable name. I went to the door and I admittedhim. That would be about ten o'clock that night.

"When he came into the glare of the lamp, I saw at once that hehad fallen upon very evil days. He had walked from Liverpool, andhe was tired and ill. I was quite shocked by the expression uponhis face. My medical knowledge told me that there was some seriousinternal malady. He had been drinking also, and his face wasbruised as the result of a scuffle which he had had with somesailors. It was to cover his injured eye that he wore this patch,which he removed when he entered the room. He was himself dressedin a pea-jacket and flannel shirt, and his feet were burstingthrough his boots. But his poverty had only made him more savagelyvindictive towards me. His hatred rose to the height of a mania.I had been rolling in money in England, according to his account,while he had been starving in South America. I cannot describe toyou the threats which he uttered or the insults which he pouredupon me. My impression is, that hardships and debauchery hadunhinged his reason. He paced about the room like a wild beast,demanding drink, demanding money, and all in the foulest language.I am a hot-tempered man, but I thank God that I am able to say thatI remained master of myself, and that I never raised a hand againsthim. My coolness only irritated him the more. He raved, hecursed, he shook his fists in my face, and then suddenly a horriblespasm passed over his features, he clapped his hand to his side,and with a loud cry he fell in a heap at my feet. I raised him upand stretched him upon the sofa, but no answer came to myexclamations, and the hand which I held in mine was cold andclammy. His diseased heart had broken down. His own violence hadkilled him.

"For a long time I sat as if I were in some dreadful dream,staring at the body of my brother. I was aroused by the knockingof Mrs. Woods, who had been disturbed by that dying cry. I senther away to bed. Shortly afterwards a patient tapped at thesurgery door, but as I took no notice, he or she went off again.Slowly and gradually as I sat there a plan was forming itself in myhead in the curious automatic way in which plans do form. When Irose from my chair my future movements were finally decided uponwithout my having been conscious of any process of thought. It wasan instinct which irresistibly inclined me towards one course.

"Ever since that change in my affairs to which I have alluded,Bishop's Crossing had become hateful to me. My plans of life hadbeen ruined, and I had met with hasty judgments and unkindtreatment where I had expected sympathy. It is true that anydanger of scandal from my brother had passed away with his life;but still, I was sore about the past, and felt that things couldnever be as they had been. It may be that I was unduly sensitive,and that I had not made sufficient allowance for others, but myfeelings were as I describe. Any chance of getting away fromBishop's Crossing and of everyone in it would be most welcome tome. And here was such a chance as I could never have dared to hopefor, a chance which would enable me to make a clean break with thepast.

"There was this dead man lying upon the sofa, so like me thatsave for some little thickness and coarseness of the features therewas no difference at all. No one had seen him come and no onewould miss him. We were both clean-shaven, and his hair was aboutthe same length as my own. If I changed clothes with him, then Dr.Aloysius Lana would be found lying dead in his study, and therewould be an end of an unfortunate fellow, and of a blighted career.There was plenty of ready money in the room, and this I could carryaway with me to help me to start once more in some other land. Inmy brother's clothes I could walk by night unobserved as far asLiverpool, and in that great seaport I would soon find some meansof leaving the country. After my lost hopes, the humblestexistence where I was unknown was far preferable, in my estimation,to a practice, however successful, in Bishop's Crossing, where atany moment I might come face to face with those whom I should wish,if it were possible, to forget. I determined to effect the change.

"And I did so. I will not go into particulars, for therecollection is as painful as the experience; but in an hourmy brother lay, dressed down to the smallest detail in my clothes,while I slunk out by the surgery door, and taking the back pathwhich led across some fields, I started off to make the best of myway to Liverpool, where I arrived the same night. My bag of moneyand a certain portrait were all I carried out of the house, and Ileft behind me in my hurry the shade which my brother had beenwearing over his eye. Everything else of his I took with me.

"I give you my word, sir, that never for one instant did theidea occur to me that people might think that I had been murdered,nor did I imagine that anyone might be caused serious dangerthrough this stratagem by which I endeavoured to gain a fresh startin the world. On the contrary, it was the thought of relievingothers from the burden of my presence which was always uppermost inmy mind. A sailing vessel was leaving Liverpool that very day forCorunna, and in this I took my passage, thinking that the voyagewould give me time to recover my balance, and to consider thefuture. But before I left my resolution softened. I bethought methat there was one person in the world to whom I would not cause anhour of sadness. She would mourn me in her heart, however harshand unsympathetic her relatives might be. She understood andappreciated the motives upon which I had acted, and if the rest ofher family condemned me, she, at least, would not forget. And soI sent her a note under the seal of secrecy to save her from abaseless grief. If under the pressure of events she broke thatseal, she has my entire sympathy and forgiveness.

"It was only last night that I returned to England, and duringall this time I have heard nothing of the sensation which mysupposed death had caused, nor of the accusation that Mr. ArthurMorton had been concerned in it. It was in a late evening paperthat I read an account of the proceedings of yesterday, and I havecome this morning as fast as an express train could bring me totestify to the truth."

Such was the remarkable statement of Dr. Aloysius Lana whichbrought the trial to a sudden termination. A subsequentinvestigation corroborated it to the extent of finding out thevessel in which his brother Ernest Lana had come over from SouthAmerica. The ship's doctor was able to testify that he hadcomplained of a weak heart during the voyage, and that his symptomswere consistent with such a death as was described.

As to Dr. Aloysius Lana, he returned to the village from whichhe had made so dramatic a disappearance, and a completereconciliation was effected between him and the young squire, thelatter having acknowledged that he had entirely misunderstood theother's motives in withdrawing from his engagement. That anotherreconciliation followed may be judged from a notice extracted froma prominent column in the Morning Post:

"A marriage was solemnized upon September 19th, by the Rev.Stephen Johnson, at the parish church of Bishop's Crossing, betweenAloysius Xavier Lana, son of Don Alfredo Lana, formerly ForeignMinister of the Argentine Republic, and Frances Morton, onlydaughter of the late James Morton, J.P., of Leigh Hall, Bishop'sCrossing, Lancashire."

The Jew's Breastplate

My particular friend, Ward Mortimer, was one of the best men ofhis day at everything connected with Oriental archaeology. Hehad written largely upon the subject, he had lived two years in atomb at Thebes, while he excavated in the Valley of the Kings,and finally he had created a considerable sensation by hisexhumation of the alleged mummy of Cleopatra in the inner room ofthe Temple of Horus, at Philae. With such a record at the age ofthirty-one, it was felt that a considerable career lay beforehim, and no one was surprised when he was elected to thecuratorship of the Belmore Street Museum, which carries with itthe lectureship at the Oriental College, and an income which hassunk with the fall in land, but which still remains at that idealsum which is large enough to encourage an investigator, but notso large as to enervate him.

There was only one reason which made Ward Mortimer's positiona little difficult at the Belmore Street Museum, and that was theextreme eminence of the man whom he had to succeed. ProfessorAndreas was a profound scholar and a man of European reputation.His lectures were frequented by students from every part of theworld, and his admirable management of the collection intrusted tohis care was a commonplace in all learned societies. There was,therefore, considerable surprise when, at the age of fifty-five, hesuddenly resigned his position and retired from those duties whichhad been both his livelihood and his pleasure. He and his daughterleft the comfortable suite of rooms which had formed his officialresidence in connection with the museum, and my friend, Mortimer,who was a bachelor, took up his quarters there.

On hearing of Mortimer's appointment Professor Andreas hadwritten him a very kindly and flattering congratulatory letter. Iwas actually present at their first meeting, and I went withMortimer round the museum when the Professor showed us theadmirable collection which he had cherished so long. TheProfessor's beautiful daughter and a young man, Captain Wilson, whowas, as I understood, soon to be her husband, accompanied us in ourinspection. There were fifteen rooms, but the Babylonian, theSyrian, and the central hall, which contained the Jewish andEgyptian collection, were the finest of all. Professor Andreas wasa quiet, dry, elderly man, with a clean-shaven face and animpassive manner, but his dark eyes sparkled and his featuresquickened into enthusiastic life as he pointed out to us the rarityand the beauty of some of his specimens. His hand lingered sofondly over them, that one could read his pride in them and thegrief in his heart now that they were passing from his care intothat of another.

He had shown us in turn his mummies, his papyri, his rarescarabs, his inscriptions, his Jewish relics, and his duplicationof the famous seven-branched candlestick of the Temple, which wasbrought to Rome by Titus, and which is supposed by some to be lyingat this instant in the bed of the Tiber. Then he approached a casewhich stood in the very centre of the hall, and he looked downthrough the glass with reverence in his attitude and manner.

"This is no novelty to an expert like yourself, Mr. Mortimer,"said he; "but I daresay that your friend, Mr. Jackson, will beinterested to see it."

Leaning over the case I saw an object, some five inches square,which consisted of twelve precious stones in a framework of gold,with golden hooks at two of the corners. The stones were allvarying in sort and colour, but they were of the same size. Theirshapes, arrangement, and gradation of tint made me think of a boxof water-colour paints. Each stone had some hieroglyphic scratchedupon its surface.

"You have heard, Mr. Jackson, of the urim and thummim?"

I had heard the term, but my idea of its meaning wasexceedingly vague.

"The urim and thummim was a name given to the jewelled platewhich lay upon the breast of the high priest of the Jews. They hada very special feeling of reverence for it--something of thefeeling which an ancient Roman might have for the Sibyllinebooks in the Capitol. There are, as you see, twelve magnificentstones, inscribed with mystical characters. Counting from theleft-hand top corner, the stones are carnelian, peridot, emerald,ruby, lapis lazuli, onyx, sapphire, agate, amethyst, topaz, beryl,and jasper."

I was amazed at the variety and beauty of the stones.

"Has the breastplate any particular history?" I asked.

"It is of great age and of immense value," said ProfessorAndreas. "Without being able to make an absolute assertion, wehave many reasons to think that it is possible that it may be theoriginal urim and thummim of Solomon's Temple. There is certainlynothing so fine in any collection in Europe. My friend, CaptainWilson, here, is a practical authority upon precious stones, and hewould tell you how pure these are."

Captain Wilson, a man with a dark, hard, incisive face, wasstanding beside his fiancee at the other side of the case.

"Yes," said he, curtly, "I have never seen finer stones."

"And the gold-work is also worthy of attention. The ancientsexcelled in----"--he was apparently about to indicate the settingof the stones, when Captain Wilson interrupted him.

"You will see a finer example of their gold-work in thiscandlestick," said he, turning to another table, and we all joinedhim in his admiration of its embossed stem and delicatelyornamented branches. Altogether it was an interesting and a novelexperience to have objects of such rarity explained by so great anexpert; and when, finally, Professor Andreas finished ourinspection by formally handing over the precious collection to thecare of my friend, I could not help pitying him and envying hissuccessor whose life was to pass in so pleasant a duty. Within aweek, Ward Mortimer was duly installed in his new set of rooms, andhad become the autocrat of the Belmore Street Museum.

About a fortnight afterwards my friend gave a small dinner tohalf a dozen bachelor friends to celebrate his promotion. When hisguests were departing he pulled my sleeve and signalled to me thathe wished me to remain.

"You have only a few hundred yards to go," said he--I wasliving in chambers in the Albany. "You may as well stay and havea quiet cigar with me. I very much want your advice."

I relapsed into an arm-chair and lit one of his excellentMatronas. When he had returned from seeing the last of hisguests out, he drew a letter from his dress-jacket and sat downopposite to me.

"This is an anonymous letter which I received this morning,"said he. "I want to read it to you and to have your advice."

"You are very welcome to it for what it is worth."

"This is how the note runs: 'Sir,--I should strongly adviseyou to keep a very careful watch over the many valuable thingswhich are committed to your charge. I do not think that thepresent system of a single watchman is sufficient. Be upon yourguard, or an irreparable misfortune may occur.'"

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all."

"Well," said I, "it is at least obvious that it was written byone of the limited number of people who are aware that you haveonly one watchman at night."

Ward Mortimer handed me the note, with a curious smile. "Have you an eyefor handwriting?" said he. "Now, look at this!" He put another letter infront of me. "Look at the c in 'congratulate' and the c in 'committed.'Look at the capital I. Look at the trick of putting in a dash instead ofa stop!"

"They are undoubtedly from the same hand--with some attempt atdisguise in the case of this first one."

"The second," said Ward Mortimer, "is the letter ofcongratulation which was written to me by Professor Andreas upon myobtaining my appointment."

I stared at him in amazement. Then I turned over the letter inmy hand, and there, sure enough, was "Martin Andreas" signed uponthe other side. There could be no doubt, in the mind of anyone whohad the slightest knowledge of the science of graphology, that theProfessor had written an anonymous letter, warning his successoragainst thieves. It was inexplicable, but it was certain.

"Why should he do it?" I asked.

"Precisely what I should wish to ask you. If he had any suchmisgivings, why could he not come and tell me direct?"

"Will you speak to him about it?"

"There again I am in doubt. He might choose to deny that hewrote it."

"At any rate," said I, "this warning is meant in a friendlyspirit, and I should certainly act upon it. Are the presentprecautions enough to insure you against robbery?"

"I should have thought so. The public are only admitted fromten till five, and there is a guardian to every two rooms. Hestands at the door between them, and so commands them both."

"But at night?"

"When the public are gone, we at once put up the great ironshutters, which are absolutely burglar-proof. The watchman is acapable fellow. He sits in the lodge, but he walks round everythree hours. We keep one electric light burning in each room allnight."

"It is difficult to suggest anything more--short of keepingyour day watches all night."

"We could not afford that."

"At least, I should communicate with the police, and have aspecial constable put on outside in Belmore Street," said I. "Asto the letter, if the writer wishes to be anonymous, I think he hasa right to remain so. We must trust to the future to show somereason for the curious course which he has adopted."

So we dismissed the subject, but all that night after my returnto my chambers I was puzzling my brain as to what possible motiveProfessor Andreas could have for writing an anonymous warningletter to his successor--for that the writing was his was ascertain to me as if I had seen him actually doing it. He foresawsome danger to the collection. Was it because he foresaw it thathe abandoned his charge of it? But if so, why should he hesitateto warn Mortimer in his own name? I puzzled and puzzled until atlast I fell into a troubled sleep, which carried me beyond my usualhour of rising.

I was aroused in a singular and effective method, for aboutnine o'clock my friend Mortimer rushed into my room with anexpression of consternation upon his face. He was usually one ofthe most tidy men of my acquaintance, but now his collar was undoneat one end, his tie was flying, and his hat at the back of hishead. I read his whole story in his frantic eyes.

"The museum has been robbed!" I cried, springing up in bed.

"I fear so! Those jewels! The jewels of the urim andthummim!" he gasped, for he was out of breath with running. "I'mgoing on to the police-station. Come to the museum as soon asyou can, Jackson! Good-bye!" He rushed distractedly out of theroom, and I heard him clatter down the stairs.

I was not long in following his directions, but I found when Iarrived that he had already returned with a police inspector, andanother elderly gentleman, who proved to be Mr. Purvis, one of thepartners of Morson and Company, the well-known diamond merchants.As an expert in stones he was always prepared to advise the police.They were grouped round the case in which the breastplate of theJewish priest had been exposed. The plate had been taken out andlaid upon the glass top of the case, and the three heads were bentover it.

"It is obvious that it has been tampered with," said Mortimer."It caught my eye the moment that I passed through the room thismorning. I examined it yesterday evening, so that it is certainthat this has happened during the night."

It was, as he had said, obvious that someone had been at workupon it. The settings of the uppermost row of four stones--thecarnelian, peridot, emerald, and ruby--were rough and jagged as ifsomeone had scraped all round them. The stones were in theirplaces, but the beautiful gold-work which we had admired only a fewdays before had been very clumsily pulled about.

"It looks to me," said the police inspector, "as if someone hadbeen trying to take out the stones."

"My fear is," said Mortimer, "that he not only tried, butsucceeded. I believe these four stones to be skilful imitationswhich have been put in the place of the originals."

The same suspicion had evidently been in the mind of theexpert, for he had been carefully examining the four stones withthe aid of a lens. He now submitted them to several tests, andfinally turned cheerfully to Mortimer.

"I congratulate you, sir," said he, heartily. "I will pledgemy reputation that all four of these stones are genuine, and of amost unusual degree of purity."

The colour began to come back to my poor friend's frightenedface, and he drew a long breath of relief.

"Thank God!" he cried. "Then what in the world did the thiefwant?"

"Probably he meant to take the stones, but was interrupted."

"In that case one would expect him to take them out one at atime, but the setting of each of these has been loosened, and yetthe stones are all here."

"It is certainly most extraordinary," said the inspector. "Inever remember a case like it. Let us see the watchman."

The commissionaire was called--a soldierly, honest-faced man,who seemed as concerned as Ward Mortimer at the incident.

"No, sir, I never heard a sound," he answered, in reply to thequestions of the inspector. "I made my rounds four times, asusual, but I saw nothing suspicious. I've been in my position tenyears, but nothing of the kind has ever occurred before."

"No thief could have come through the windows?"

"Impossible, sir."

"Or passed you at the door?"

"No, sir; I never left my post except when I walked my rounds."

"What other openings are there in the museum?"

"There is the door into Mr. Ward Mortimer's private rooms."

"That is locked at night," my friend explained, "and in orderto reach it anyone from the street would have to open the outsidedoor as well."

"Your servants?"

"Their quarters are entirely separate."

"Well, well," said the inspector, "this is certainly veryobscure. However, there has been no harm done, according to Mr.Purvis."

"I will swear that those stones are genuine."

"So that the case appears to be merely one of malicious damage.But none the less, I should be very glad to go carefully round thepremises, and to see if we can find any trace to show us who yourvisitor may have been."

His investigation, which lasted all the morning, was carefuland intelligent, but it led in the end to nothing. He pointed outto us that there were two possible entrances to the museum which wehad not considered. The one was from the cellars by a trap-dooropening in the passage. The other through a skylight from thelumber-room, overlooking that very chamber to which the intruderhad penetrated. As neither the cellar nor the lumber-room could beentered unless the thief was already within the locked doors,the matter was not of any practical importance, and the dust ofcellar and attic assured us that no one had used either one or theother. Finally, we ended as we began, without the slightest clueas to how, why, or by whom the setting of these four jewels hadbeen tampered with.

There remained one course for Mortimer to take, and he took it.Leaving the police to continue their fruitless researches, he askedme to accompany him that afternoon in a visit to Professor Andreas.He took with him the two letters, and it was his intention toopenly tax his predecessor with having written the anonymouswarning, and to ask him to explain the fact that he should haveanticipated so exactly that which had actually occurred. TheProfessor was living in a small villa in Upper Norwood, but we wereinformed by the servant that he was away from home. Seeing ourdisappointment, she asked us if we should like to see Miss Andreas,and showed us into the modest drawing-room.

I have mentioned incidentally that the Professor's daughter wasa very beautiful girl. She was a blonde, tall and graceful, witha skin of that delicate tint which the French call "mat," thecolour of old ivory, or of the lighter petals of the sulphur rose.I was shocked, however, as she entered the room to see how much shehad changed in the last fortnight. Her young face was haggard andher bright eyes heavy with trouble.

"Father has gone to Scotland," she said. "He seems to betired, and has had a good deal to worry him. He only left usyesterday."

"You look a little tired yourself, Miss Andreas," said myfriend.

"I have been so anxious about father."

"Can you give me his Scotch address?"

"Yes, he is with his brother, the Rev. David Andreas, 1, ArranVillas, Ardrossan."

Ward Mortimer made a note of the address, and we left withoutsaying anything as to the object of our visit. We found ourselvesin Belmore Street in the evening in exactly the same position inwhich we had been in the morning. Our only clue was theProfessor's letter, and my friend had made up his mind to start forArdrossan next day, and to get to the bottom of the anonymousletter, when a new development came to alter our plans.

Very early on the following morning I was aroused from my sleepby a tap upon my bedroom door. It was a messenger with a note fromMortimer.

"Do come round," it said; "the matter is becoming more and moreextraordinary."

When I obeyed his summons I found him pacing excitedly up anddown the central room, while the old soldier who guarded thepremises stood with military stiffness in a corner.

"My dear Jackson," he cried, "I am so delighted that you havecome, for this is a most inexplicable business."

"What has happened, then?"

He waved his hand towards the case which contained thebreastplate.

"Look at it," said he.

I did so, and could not restrain a cry of surprise. Thesetting of the middle row of precious stones had been profaned inthe same manner as the upper ones. Of the twelve jewels eight hadbeen now tampered with in this singular fashion. The setting ofthe lower four was neat and smooth. The others jagged andirregular.

"Have the stones been altered?" I asked.

"No, I am certain that these upper four are the same which theexpert pronounced to be genuine, for I observed yesterday thatlittle discoloration on the edge of the emerald. Since they havenot extracted the upper stones, there is no reason to think thelower have been transposed. You say that you heard nothing,Simpson?"

"No, sir," the commissionaire answered. "But when I made myround after daylight I had a special look at these stones, and Isaw at once that someone had been meddling with them. Then Icalled you, sir, and told you. I was backwards and forwards allnight, and I never saw a soul or heard a sound."

"Come up and have some breakfast with me," said Mortimer, andhe took me into his own chambers.--"Now, what DO you think ofthis, Jackson?" he asked.

"It is the most objectless, futile, idiotic business that everI heard of. It can only be the work of a monomaniac."

"Can you put forward any theory?"

A curious idea came into my head. "This object is a Jewishrelic of great antiquity and sanctity," said I. "How about theanti-Semitic movement? Could one conceive that a fanatic of thatway of thinking might desecrate----"

"No, no, no!" cried Mortimer. "That will never do! Such a manmight push his lunacy to the length of destroying a Jewish relic,but why on earth should he nibble round every stone so carefullythat he can only do four stones in a night? We must have a bettersolution than that, and we must find it for ourselves, for I do notthink that our inspector is likely to help us. First of all, whatdo you think of Simpson, the porter?"

"Have you any reason to suspect him?"

"Only that he is the one person on the premises."

"But why should he indulge in such wanton destruction? Nothinghas been taken away. He has no motive."

"Mania?"

"No, I will swear to his sanity."

"Have you any other theory?"

"Well, yourself, for example. You are not a somnambulist, byany chance?"

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you."

"Then I give it up."

"But I don't--and I have a plan by which we will make it allclear."

"To visit Professor Andreas?"

"No, we shall find our solution nearer than Scotland. I willtell you what we shall do. You know that skylight which overlooksthe central hall? We will leave the electric lights in the hall,and we will keep watch in the lumber-room, you and I, and solve themystery for ourselves. If our mysterious visitor is doing fourstones at a time, he has four still to do, and there is everyreason to think that he will return tonight and complete the job."

"Excellent!" I cried.

"We will keep our own secret, and say nothing either to thepolice or to Simpson. Will you join me?"

"With the utmost pleasure," said I; and so it was agreed.

It was ten o'clock that night when I returned to the BelmoreStreet Museum. Mortimer was, as I could see, in a state ofsuppressed nervous excitement, but it was still too early tobegin our vigil, so we remained for an hour or so in his chambers,discussing all the possibilities of the singular business which wehad met to solve. At last the roaring stream of hansom cabs andthe rush of hurrying feet became lower and more intermittent as thepleasure-seekers passed on their way to their stations or theirhomes. It was nearly twelve when Mortimer led the way to thelumber-room which overlooked the central hall of the museum.

He had visited it during the day, and had spread some sackingso that we could lie at our ease, and look straight down into themuseum. The skylight was of unfrosted glass, but was so coveredwith dust that it would be impossible for anyone looking up frombelow to detect that he was overlooked. We cleared a small pieceat each corner, which gave us a complete view of the room beneathus. In the cold white light of the electric lamps everything stoodout hard and clear, and I could see the smallest detail of thecontents of the various cases.

Such a vigil is an excellent lesson, since one has no choicebut to look hard at those objects which we usually pass with suchhalf-hearted interest. Through my little peep hole I employed thehours in studying every specimen, from the huge mummy-case whichleaned against the wall to those very jewels which had brought usthere, gleaming and sparkling in their glass case immediatelybeneath us. There was much precious gold-work and many valuablestones scattered through the numerous cases, but those wonderfultwelve which made up the urim and thummim glowed and burned with aradiance which far eclipsed the others. I studied in turn thetomb-pictures of Sicara, the friezes from Karnak, the statues ofMemphis, and the inscriptions of Thebes, but my eyes would alwayscome back to that wonderful Jewish relic, and my mind to thesingular mystery which surrounded it. I was lost in the thought ofit when my companion suddenly drew his breath sharply in, andseized my arm in a convulsive grip. At the same instant I saw whatit was which had excited him.

I have said that against the wall--on the right-hand side ofthe doorway (the right-hand side as we looked at it, but the leftas one entered)--there stood a large mummy-case. To ourunutterable amazement it was slowly opening. Gradually, graduallythe lid was swinging back, and the black slit which marked theopening was becoming wider and wider. So gently and carefully wasit done that the movement was almost imperceptible. Then, as webreathlessly watched it, a white thin hand appeared at the opening,pushing back the painted lid, then another hand, and finally aface--a face which was familiar to us both, that of ProfessorAndreas. Stealthily he slunk out of the mummy-case, like a foxstealing from its burrow, his head turning incessantly to left andto right, stepping, then pausing, then stepping again, the veryimage of craft and of caution. Once some sound in the streetstruck him motionless, and he stood listening, with his ear turned,ready to dart back to the shelter behind him. Then he creptonwards again upon tiptoe, very, very softly and slowly, until hehad reached the case in the centre of the room. There he took abunch of keys from his pocket, unlocked the case, took out theJewish breastplate, and, laying it upon the glass in front of him,began to work upon it with some sort of small, glistening tool. Hewas so directly underneath us that his bent head covered his work,but we could guess from the movement of his hand that he wasengaged in finishing the strange disfigurement which he had begun.

I could realize from the heavy breathing of my companion, andthe twitchings of the hand which still clutched my wrist, thefurious indignation which filled his heart as he saw this vandalismin the quarter of all others where he could least have expected it.He, the very man who a fortnight before had reverently bent overthis unique relic, and who had impressed its antiquity and itssanctity upon us, was now engaged in this outrageous profanation.It was impossible, unthinkable--and yet there, in the white glareof the electric light beneath us, was that dark figure with thebent grey head, and the twitching elbow. What inhuman hypocrisy,what hateful depth of malice against his successor must underliethese sinister nocturnal labours. It was painful to think of anddreadful to watch. Even I, who had none of the acute feelings ofa virtuoso, could not bear to look on and see this deliberatemutilation of so ancient a relic. It was a relief to me when mycompanion tugged at my sleeve as a signal that I was to follow himas he softly crept out of the room. It was not until we werewithin his own quarters that he opened his lips, and then I saw byhis agitated face how deep was his consternation.

"The abominable Goth!" he cried. "Could you have believed it?"

"It is amazing."

"He is a villain or a lunatic--one or the other. We shall verysoon see which. Come with me, Jackson, and we shall get to thebottom of this black business."

A door opened out of the passage which was the private entrancefrom his rooms into the museum. This he opened softly with hiskey, having first kicked off his shoes, an example which Ifollowed. We crept together through room after room, until thelarge hall lay before us, with that dark figure still stooping andworking at the central case. With an advance as cautious as hisown we closed in upon him, but softly as we went we could not takehim entirely unawares. We were still a dozen yards from him whenhe looked round with a start, and uttering a husky cry of terror,ran frantically down the museum.

"Simpson! Simpson!" roared Mortimer, and far away down thevista of electric lighted doors we saw the stiff figure of the oldsoldier suddenly appear. Professor Andreas saw him also, andstopped running, with a gesture of despair. At the same instant weeach laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Yes, yes, gentlemen," he panted, "I will come with you. Toyour room, Mr. Ward Mortimer, if you please! I feel that I owe youan explanation."

My companion's indignation was so great that I could see thathe dared not trust himself to reply. We walked on each side of theold Professor, the astonished commissionaire bringing up the rear.When we reached the violated case, Mortimer stopped and examinedthe breastplate. Already one of the stones of the lower row hadhad its setting turned back in the same manner as the others. Myfriend held it up and glanced furiously at his prisoner.

"How could you!" he cried. "How could you!"

"It is horrible--horrible!" said the Professor. "I don'twonder at your feelings. Take me to your room."

"But this shall not be left exposed!" cried Mortimer. Hepicked the breastplate up and carried it tenderly in his hand,while I walked beside the Professor, like a policeman with amalefactor. We passed into Mortimer's chambers, leaving the amazedold soldier to understand matters as best he could. The Professorsat down in Mortimer's arm-chair, and turned so ghastly a colourthat for the instant all our resentment was changed to concern. Astiff glass of brandy brought the life back to him once more.

"There, I am better now!" said he. "These last few days havebeen too much for me. I am convinced that I could not stand it anylonger. It is a nightmare--a horrible nightmare--that I should bearrested as a burglar in what has been for so long my own museum.And yet I cannot blame you. You could not have done otherwise. Myhope always was that I should get it all over before I wasdetected. This would have been my last night's work."

"How did you get in?" asked Mortimer.

"By taking a very great liberty with your private door. Butthe object justified it. The object justified everything. Youwill not be angry when you know everything--at least, you will notbe angry with me. I had a key to your side door and also to themuseum door. I did not give them up when I left. And so you seeit was not difficult for me to let myself into the museum. I usedto come in early before the crowd had cleared from the street.Then I hid myself in the mummy-case, and took refuge there wheneverSimpson came round. I could always hear him coming. I used toleave in the same way as I came."

"You ran a risk."

"I had to."

"But why? What on earth was your object--YOU to do a thinglike that!" Mortimer pointed reproachfully at the plate which laybefore him on the table.

"I could devise no other means. I thought and thought, butthere was no alternate except a hideous public scandal, and aprivate sorrow which would have clouded our lives. I acted for thebest, incredible as it may seem to you, and I only ask yourattention to enable me to prove it."

"I will hear what you have to say before I take any furthersteps," said Mortimer, grimly.

"I am determined to hold back nothing, and to take you bothcompletely into my confidence. I will leave it to your owngenerosity how far you will use the facts with which I supply you."

"We have the essential facts already."

"And yet you understand nothing. Let me go back to what passeda few weeks ago, and I will make it all clear to you. Believe methat what I say is the absolute and exact truth.

"You have met the person who calls himself Captain Wilson. Isay 'calls himself' because I have reason now to believe that it isnot his correct name. It would take me too long if I were todescribe all the means by which he obtained an introduction to meand ingratiated himself into my friendship and the affection of mydaughter. He brought letters from foreign colleagues whichcompelled me to show him some attention. And then, by his ownattainments, which are considerable, he succeeded in making himselfa very welcome visitor at my rooms. When I learned that mydaughter's affections had been gained by him, I may have thought itpremature, but I certainly was not surprised, for he had a charm ofmanner and of conversation which would have made him conspicuous inany society.

"He was much interested in Oriental antiquities, and hisknowledge of the subject justified his interest. Often when hespent the evening with us he would ask permission to go down intothe museum and have an opportunity of privately inspecting thevarious specimens. You can imagine that I, as an enthusiast, wasin sympathy with such a request, and that I felt no surprise at theconstancy of his visits. After his actual engagement to Elise,there was hardly an evening which he did not pass with us, and anhour or two were generally devoted to the museum. He had the freerun of the place, and when I have been away for the evening I hadno objection to his doing whatever he wished here. This state ofthings was only terminated by the fact of my resignation of myofficial duties and my retirement to Norwood, where I hoped to havethe leisure to write a considerable work which I had planned.

"It was immediately after this--within a week or so--that Ifirst realized the true nature and character of the man whom I hadso imprudently introduced into my family. The discovery came to methrough letters from my friends abroad, which showed me thathis introductions to me had been forgeries. Aghast at therevelation, I asked myself what motive this man could originallyhave had in practising this elaborate deception upon me. I was toopoor a man for any fortune-hunter to have marked me down. Why,then, had he come? I remembered that some of the most preciousgems in Europe had been under my charge, and I remembered also theingenious excuses by which this man had made himself familiar withthe cases in which they were kept. He was a rascal who wasplanning some gigantic robbery. How could I, without striking myown daughter, who was infatuated about him, prevent him fromcarrying out any plan which he might have formed? My device was aclumsy one, and yet I could think of nothing more effective. If Ihad written a letter under my own name, you would naturally haveturned to me for details which I did not wish to give. I resortedto an anonymous letter, begging you to be upon your guard.

"I may tell you that my change from Belmore Street to Norwoodhad not affected the visits of this man, who had, I believe, a realand overpowering affection for my daughter. As to her, I could nothave believed that any woman could be so completely under theinfluence of a man as she was. His stronger nature seemed toentirely dominate her. I had not realized how far this was thecase, or the extent of the confidence which existed between them,until that very evening when his true character for the first timewas made clear to me. I had given orders that when he called heshould be shown into my study instead of to the drawing-room.There I told him bluntly that I knew all about him, that I hadtaken steps to defeat his designs, and that neither I nor mydaughter desired ever to see him again. I added that I thanked Godthat I had found him out before he had time to harm those preciousobjects which it had been the work of my life-time to protect.

"He was certainly a man of iron nerve. He took my remarkswithout a sign either of surprise or of defiance, but listenedgravely and attentively until I had finished. Then he walkedacross the room without a word and struck the bell.

"'Ask Miss Andreas to be so kind as to step this way,' said heto the servant.

"My daughter entered, and the man closed the door behind her.Then he took her hand in his.

"'Elise,' said he, 'your father has just discovered that I ama villain. He knows now what you knew before.'

"She stood in silence, listening.

"'He says that we are to part for ever,' said he.

"She did not withdraw her hand.

"'Will you be true to me, or will you remove the last goodinfluence which is ever likely to come into my life?'

"'John,' she cried, passionately. 'I will never abandon you!Never, never, not if the whole world were against you.'

"In vain I argued and pleaded with her. It was absolutelyuseless. Her whole life was bound up in this man before me. Mydaughter, gentlemen, is all that I have left to love, and it filledme with agony when I saw how powerless I was to save her from herruin. My helplessness seemed to touch this man who was the causeof my trouble.

"'It may not be as bad as you think, sir,' said he, in hisquiet, inflexible way. 'I love Elise with a love which is strongenough to rescue even one who has such a record as I have. It wasbut yesterday that I promised her that never again in my whole lifewould I do a thing of which she should be ashamed. I have made upmy mind to it, and never yet did I make up my mind to a thing whichI did not do.'

"He spoke with an air which carried conviction with it. As heconcluded he put his hand into his pocket and he drew out a smallcardboard box.

"'I am about to give you a proof of my determination,' said he.'This, Elise, shall be the first-fruits of your redeeming influenceover me. You are right, sir, in thinking that I had designs uponthe jewels in your possession. Such ventures have had a charm forme, which depended as much upon the risk run as upon the value ofthe prize. Those famous and antique stones of the Jewish priestwere a challenge to my daring and my ingenuity. I determined toget them.'

"'I guessed as much.'

"'There was only one thing that you did not guess.'

"'And what is that?'

"'That I got them. They are in this box.'

"He opened the box, and tilted out the contents upon the cornerof my desk. My hair rose and my flesh grew cold as I looked.There were twelve magnificent square stones engraved with mysticalcharacters. There could be no doubt that they were the jewels ofthe urim and thummim.

"'Good God!' I cried. 'How have you escaped discovery?'

"'By the substitution of twelve others, made especially to myorder, in which the originals are so carefully imitated that I defythe eye to detect the difference.'

"'Then the present stones are false?' I cried.

"'They have been for some weeks.'

"We all stood in silence, my daughter white with emotion, butstill holding this man by the hand.

"'You see what I am capable of, Elise,' said he.

"'I see that you are capable of repentance and restitution,'she answered.

"'Yes, thanks to your influence! I leave the stones in yourhands, sir. Do what you like about it. But remember that whateveryou do against me, is done against the future husband of your onlydaughter. You will hear from me soon again, Elise. It is the lasttime that I will ever cause pain to your tender heart,' and withthese words he left both the room and the house.

"My position was a dreadful one. Here I was with theseprecious relics in my possession, and how could I return themwithout a scandal and an exposure? I knew the depth of mydaughter's nature too well to suppose that I would ever be able todetach her from this man now that she had entirely given him herheart. I was not even sure how far it was right to detach her ifshe had such an ameliorating influence over him. How could Iexpose him without injuring her--and how far was I justified inexposing him when he had voluntarily put himself into my power? Ithought and thought until at last I formed a resolution which mayseem to you to be a foolish one, and yet, if I had to do it again,I believe it would be the best course open to me.

"My idea was to return the stones without anyone being thewiser. With my keys I could get into the museum at any time, andI was confident that I could avoid Simpson, whose hours and methodswere familiar to me. I determined to take no one into myconfidence--not even my daughter--whom I told that I was about tovisit my brother in Scotland. I wanted a free hand for a fewnights, without inquiry as to my comings and goings. To this endI took a room in Harding Street that very night, with an intimationthat I was a Pressman, and that I should keep very late hours.

"That night I made my way into the museum, and I replaced fourof the stones. It was hard work, and took me all night. WhenSimpson came round I always heard his footsteps, and concealedmyself in the mummy-case. I had some knowledge of gold-work, butwas far less skilful than the thief had been. He had replaced thesetting so exactly that I defy anyone to see the difference. Mywork was rude and clumsy. However, I hoped that the plate mightnot be carefully examined, or the roughness of the settingobserved, until my task was done. Next night I replaced four morestones. And tonight I should have finished my task had it not beenfor the unfortunate circumstance which has caused me to reveal somuch which I should have wished to keep concealed. I appeal toyou, gentlemen, to your sense of honour and of compassion, whetherwhat I have told you should go any farther or not. My ownhappiness, my daughter's future, the hopes of this man'sregeneration, all depend upon your decision.

"Which is," said my friend, "that all is well that ends welland that the whole matter ends here and at once. Tomorrow theloose settings shall be tightened by an expert goldsmith, and sopasses the greatest danger to which, since the destruction of theTemple, the urim and thummim has been exposed. Here is my hand,Professor Andreas, and I can only hope that under such difficultcircumstances I should have carried myself as unselfishly and as well."

Just one footnote to this narrative. Within a month EliseAndreas was married to a man whose name, had I the indiscretion tomention it, would appeal to my readers as one who is now widely anddeservedly honoured. But if the truth were known that honour isdue not to him, but to the gentle girl who plucked him back when hehad gone so far down that dark road along which few return.

The Nightmare Room

The sitting-room of the Masons was a very singular apartment. At one endit was furnished with considerable luxury. The deep sofas, the low,luxurious chairs, the voluptuous statuettes, and the rich curtainshanging from deep and ornamental screens of metal-work made a fittingframe for the lovely woman who was the mistress of the establishment.Mason, a young but wealthy man of affairs, had clearly spared no painsand no expense to meet every want and every whim of his beautiful wife.It was natural that he should do so, for she had given up much for hissake. The most famous dancer in France, the heroine of a dozenextraordinary romances, she had resigned her life of glittering pleasurein order to share the fate of the young American, whose austere waysdiffered so widely from her own. In all that wealth could buy he triedto make amends for what she had lost. Some might perhaps have thought itin better taste had he not proclaimed this fact--had he not even allowedit to be printed--but save for some personal peculiarities of the sort,his conduct was that of a husband who has never for an instant ceased tobe a lover. Even the presence of spectators would not prevent the publicexhibition of his overpowering affection.

But the room was singular. At first it seemed familiar, and yet a longeracquaintance made one realise its sinister peculiarities. It wassilent--very silent. No footfall could be heard upon those rich carpetsand heavy rugs. A struggle--even the fall of a body--would make nosound. It was strangely colourless also, in a light which seemed alwayssubdued. Nor was it all furnished in equal taste. One would have saidthat when the young banker had lavished thousands upon this boudoir,this inner jewel-case for his precious possession, he had failed tocount the cost and had suddenly been arrested by a threat to his ownsolvency. It was luxurious where it looked out upon the busy streetbelow. At the farther side it was bare, spartan, and reflected ratherthe taste of a most ascetic man than of a pleasure-loving woman. Perhapsthat was why she only came there for a few hours, sometimes two,sometimes four, in the day, but while she was there she lived intensely,and within this nightmare room Lucille Mason was a very different and amore dangerous woman than elsewhere.

Dangerous--that was the word. Who could doubt it who saw her delicatefigure stretched upon the great bearskin which draped the sofa. She wasleaning upon her right elbow, her delicate but determined chin restingupon her hand, while her eyes, large and languishing, adorable butinexorable, stared out in front of her with a fixed intensity which hadin it something vaguely terrible. It was a lovely face--a child's face,and yet Nature had placed there some subtle mark, some indefinableexpression, which told that a devil lurked within. It had been noticedthat dogs shrank from her, and that children screamed and ran from hercaresses. There are instincts which are deeper than reason.

Upon this particular afternoon something had greatly moved her. A letterwas in her hand, which she read and re-read with a tightening of thosedelicate little eyebrows and a grim setting of those delicious lips.Suddenly she started, and a shadow of fear softened the feline menace ofher features. She raised herself upon her arm, and her eyes were fixedeagerly upon the door. She was listening intently--listening forsomething which she dreaded. For a moment a smile of relief played overher expressive face. Then with a look of horror she stuffed her letterinto her dress. She had hardly done so before the door opened, and ayoung man came briskly into the room. It was Archie Mason, herhusband--the man whom she had loved, the man for whom she had sacrificedher European fame, the man whom now she regarded as the one obstacle toa new and wonderful experience.

The American was a man about thirty, clean-shaven, athletic, dressed toperfection in a closely-cut suit, which outlined his perfect figure. Hestood at the door with his arms folded, looking intently at his wife,with a face which might have been a handsome, sun-tinted mask save forthose vivid eyes. She still leaned upon her elbow, but her eyes werefixed on his. There was something terrible in the silent exchange. Eachinterrogated the other, and each conveyed the thought that the answer totheir question was vital. He might have been asking, "What have youdone?" She in her turn seemed to be saying, "What do you know?"Finally, he walked forward, sat down upon the bearskin beside her, andtaking her delicate ear gently between his fingers, turned her facetowards his.

"Lucille," he said, "are you poisoning me?"

She sprang back from his touch with horror in her face and protests uponher lips. Too moved to speak, her surprise and her anger showedthemselves rather in her darting hands and her convulsed features. Shetried to rise, but his grasp tightened upon her wrist. Again he asked aquestion, but this time it had deepened in its terrible significance.

"Lucille, why are you poisoning me?"

"You are mad, Archie! Mad!" she gasped.

His answer froze her blood. With pale parted lips and blanched cheeksshe could only stare at him in helpless silence, whilst he drew a smallbottle from his pocket and held it before her eyes.

"It is from your jewel-case!" he cried.

Twice she tried to speak and failed. At last the words came slowly oneby one from her contorted lips:--

"At least I never used it."

Again his hand sought his pocket. From it he drew a sheet of paper,which he unfolded and held before her.

"It is the certificate of Dr. Angus. It shows the presence of twelvegrains of antimony. I have also the evidence of Du Val, the chemist whosold it."

Her face was terrible to look at. There was nothing to say. She couldonly lie with that fixed hopeless stare like some fierce creature in afatal trap.

"Well?" he asked.

There was no answer save a movement of desperation and appeal.

"Why?" he said. "I want to know why." As he spoke his eye caught theedge of the letter which she had thrust into her bosom. In an instant hehad snatched it. With a cry of despair she tried to regain it, but heheld her off with one hand while his eyes raced over it.

"Campbell!" he gasped. "It was Campbell!"

She had found her courage again. There was nothing more to conceal. Herface set hard and firm. Her eyes were deadly as daggers.

"Yes," she said, "it is Campbell."

"My God! Campbell of all men!"

He rose and walked swiftly about the room. Campbell, the grandest manthat he had ever known, a man whose whole life had been one long recordof self-denial, of courage, of every quality which marks the chosen man.And yet, he, too, had fallen a victim to this siren, and had beendragged down to such a level that he had betrayed, in intention if notin actual deed, the man whose hand he shook in friendship. It wasincredible--and yet here was the passionate, pleading letter imploringhis wife to fly and share the fate of a penniless man. Every word of theletter showed that Campbell had at least no thought of Mason's death,which would have removed all difficulties. That devilish solution wasthe outcome of the deep and wicked brain which brooded within thatperfect habitation.

Mason was a man in a million, a philosopher, a thinker, with a broad andtender sympathy for others. For an instant his soul had been submergedin his bitterness. He could for that brief period have slain both hiswife and Campbell, and gone to his own death with the serene mind of aman who has done his plain duty. But already, as he paced the room,milder thoughts had begun to prevail. How could he blame Campbell? Heknew the absolute witchery of this woman. It was not only her wonderfulphysical beauty. She had a unique power of seeming to take an interestin a man, in writhing into his inmost conscience, in penetrating thoseparts of his nature which were too sacred for the world, and in seemingto stimulate him towards ambition and even towards virtue. It was justthere that the deadly cleverness of her net was shown. He remembered howit had been in his own case. She was free then--or so he thought--andhe had been able to marry her. But suppose she had not been free.Suppose she had been married. And suppose she had taken possession ofhis soul in the same way. Would he have stopped there? Would he have beenable to draw off with his unfulfilled longings? He was bound to admitthat with all his New England strength he could not have done so. Why,then, should he feel so bitter with his unfortunate friend who was inthe same position? It was pity and sympathy which filled his mind as hethought of Campbell.

And she? There she lay upon the sofa, a poor broken butterfly, her dreamsdispersed, her plot detected, her future dark and perilous. Even forher, poisoner as she was, his heart relented. He knew something of herhistory. He knew her as a spoiled child from birth, untamed, unchecked,sweeping everything easily before her from her cleverness, her beauty,and her charm. She had never known an obstacle. And now one had risenacross her path, and she had madly and wickedly tried to remove it. Butif she had wished to remove it, was not that in itself a sign that hehad been found wanting--that he was not the man who could bring herpeace of mind and contentment of heart? He was too stern andself-contained for that sunny volatile nature. He was of the North, andshe of the South, drawn strongly together for a time by the law ofopposites, but impossible for permanent union. He should have seen tothis--he should have understood it. It was on him, with his superiorbrain, that the responsibility for the situation lay. His heart softenedtowards her as it would to a little child which was in helpless trouble.For a time he had paced the room in silence, his lips compressed, hishands clenched till his nails had marked his palms. Now with a suddenmovement he sat beside her and took her cold and inert hand in his. Onethought beat in his brain. "Is it chivalry, or is it weakness?" Thequestion sounded in his ears, it framed itself before his eyes, he couldalmost fancy that it materialised itself and that he saw it in letterswhich all the world could read.

It had been a hard struggle, but he had conquered.

"You shall choose between us, dear," he said. "If really you aresure--sure, you understand--that Campbell could make you happy as ahusband, I will not be the obstacle."

"A divorce!" she gasped.

His hand closed upon the bottle of poison. "You can call it that," saidhe.

A new strange light shone in her eyes as she looked at him. This was aman who had been unknown to her. The hard, practical American hadvanished. In his place she seemed to have a glimpse of a hero, and asaint, a man who could rise to an inhuman height of unselfish virtue.Both her hands were round that which held the fatal phial.

"Archie," she cried, "you could forgive me even that!"

He smiled at her. "You are only a little wayward kiddie after all."

Her arms were outstretched to him when there was a tap at the door, andthe maid entered in the strange silent fashion in which all things movedin that nightmare room. There was a card on the tray. She glanced at it.

"Captain Campbell! I will not see him."

Mason sprang to his feet.

"On the contrary, he is most welcome. Show him up this instant."

A few minutes later a tall, sun-burned young soldier had been usheredinto the room. He came forward with a smile upon his pleasant features,but as the door closed behind him, and the faces before him resumedtheir natural expressions, he paused irresolutely and glanced from oneto the other.

"Well?" he asked.

Mason stepped forward and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"I bear no ill-will," he said.

"Ill-will?"

"Yes, I know all. But I might have done the same myself had the positionbeen reversed."

Campbell stepped back and looked a question at the lady. She nodded andshrugged her graceful shoulders. Mason smiled.

"You need not fear that it is a trap for a confession. We have had afrank talk upon the matter. See, Jack, you were always a sportsman.Here's a' bottle. Never mind how it came here. If one or other of usdrink it, it would clear the' situation." His manner was wild, almostdelirious. "Lucille, which shall it be?"

There had been a strange force at work in the nightmare room. A thirdman was there, though not one of the three who had stood in the crisisof their life's drama had time or thought for him. How long he had beenthere--how much he' had heard--none could say. In the corner farthestfrom the little group he lay crouched against the wall, a sinistersnake-like figure, silent and scarcely moving save for a nervoustwitching of his clenched right hand. He was concealed from view by asquare case and by a dark cloth drawn cunningly above it, so as toscreen his features. Intent, watching eagerly every new phase of thedrama, the moment had almost come for his intervention. But the threethought little of that. Absorbed in the interplay of their own emotionsthey had lost sight of a force stronger than themselves--a force whichmight at any moment dominate the scene.

"Are you game, Jack?" asked Mason.

The soldier nodded.

"No!--for God's sake, no!" cried the woman.

Mason had uncorked the bottle, and turning to the side table he drew outa pack of cards. Cards and bottle stood together.